Chapter 8
Fisher
Present Day
Lucy turns around and glares at me when I say her name. I might have added a little song to my voice when I said it, just like old times. I want to get a rise out of her. I want some sort of proof that she still feels something for me. I hate the fact that she’s clinging to this asshole’s arm so tightly that she’s probably cutting off circulation, practically begging him to keep her safe from the big bad wolf.
I want to say something cocky. I want to smirk at her and make some sort of joke about how I’m back and she can kick this jerk to the curb, but I can’t find my fucking voice. Jesus, how in the hell did I stay away from this woman for over a year? I didn’t want to, that’s for damn sure, but I had to. I was headed down a path that neither of us would have recovered from, and I couldn’t take her with me. I’d already done more damage to her than I cared to admit when I pushed her away, more harm than I ever wanted to think about, but that’s why I’m here. I have to relive all of that shit and I have to find a way to erase all of the pain I inflicted on her. It’s part of my recovery and it’s the only way I stand a chance in hell of proving to her that I never meant the things I said to her a year ago. I never meant to do what I did to her in that kitchen the last time I came home. It was a mistake. Every word I spoke and everything I did was a mistake, and I want to take it all back and make it right again. She just has to give me a chance to make it right.
“Jefferson.”
My first name on her lips sounds like a curse. I’ve never gone by that name since I share it with my father and my grandfather; it’s too confusing. I hate that damn name, but it’s still the most beautiful fucking sound in the world coming from her mouth, so I don’t complain.
“If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be,” she says in a polite, pissy voice as she starts to move away.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” I ask, nodding to the fancy asshole in the suit with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, touching my girl. Standing close to my girl. Doing God knows WHAT with my fucking girl.
I will not lose my shit, I will not lose my shit.
I’ve come too far and worked too hard to go back a thousand fucking steps right now. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and put an easy smile on my face that I sure as hell don’t feel.
Lucy sighs and closes her eyes briefly. “Fisher, this is Stanford Wallis, Stanford, this is Jefferson Fisher.”
Dipshit actually has the foresight to remove his arm from Lucy’s shoulders when she says my full name.
“Wow, so you’re Jefferson Fisher. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father,” he says, his eyes widening as he holds his hand out to me.
I grab onto it, squeezing it a little harder than I probably should, but what the fuck? “That’s right, Stanley, I’m Jefferson Fisher. My friends call me Fisher, so you can call me Jefferson.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Lucy mutters quietly.
“Actually, it’s Stanford. No one calls me Stanley,” he laughs nervously.
Gripping his hand just hard enough to feel his bones rub together, I drop it quickly and nod. “Good to know, Stanley.”
I bring my drink up to my lips, pausing before taking a sip. Lucy eyes the drink and I don’t miss the look of worry that flashes across her face. She might not want to, but she still cares, and it warms my cold fucking soul and stops me from shoving my fist into Nancy Stanley’s mouth.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s just sparkling water,” I tell her softly.
Her eyes jerk away from the glass and meet mine. She scrunches up her nose and it takes every single muscle in my body to keep myself from closing the space between us and kissing that damn nose.
“What you drink is no business of mine,” she says flippantly.
I might have believed her a year ago. Sobriety is nothing if not a great excuse to think clearly for once and see the truth of what’s happening right in front of you. For instance, Lucy keeps running her fingers through her hair and then fidgeting with the neckline of her dress. I know for a fact she does that whenever she’s nervous. The first time I kissed her, I had to hold her hands down at her sides so she’d stop messing with her hair. On our wedding day, she kept tugging up the white, strapless gown even though that thing molded her perfect body like a glove and wasn’t going anywhere. I still make Lucy nervous, and that’s all the information I need for tonight.
“Well, we really do have to be going,” Lucy states, grabbing onto Fuckford’s hand and tugging him towards the door.
“Hey, Stanny-boy, can you give us just a second?”
He looks between Lucy and I, raising his eyebrows at her questioningly. Lucy runs her fingers through her hair and then nods.
“It’s fine. Go on outside. I’ll meet you there in a second,” she tells him.
I lift my glass in his direction in a silent toast and smirk. He leans down and kisses her cheek without taking his eyes off of me before backing away and out the front door.
“Was that really necessary?” Lucy asks in irritation, bringing her eyes back to me and away from the door where Stick-Up-His-Assford just exited.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She folds her arms across her chest, pushing her tits up through the deep vee until I can see so much creamy cleavage that my mouth waters. I quickly toss back the rest of my drink, clinking my glass down on the table next to us.
“Stop calling him Stanley and stop trying to piss all over me like I’m your property!”
My dick instantly springs to life inside my jeans. I can’t help it. When Lucy gets fired up, I get turned on. It’s like some Pavlov’s dog shit.
“You’re seriously going to pick some fuck named Stanford over me?” I ask indignantly.
She takes a step forward, moving so close that I can feel the heat from her body and smell the coconut on her skin from the suntan oil she uses. No matter how hard she tries to wash it off, that scent always lingers on her and it’s the best damn smell in the world. She always smells like summer and beaches and fresh ocean air.
“I’m not picking anyone. You walked away, Fisher. You’re the one who made the choice; I just had to go along with it.”
My hand moves of its own accord, my fingers sliding through the long bangs that hang down over one of her eyes. I brush them out of the way and hear her intake of breath when I inch even closer, moving right into her personal space and pressing my body against hers. I feel her thighs against mine and her breasts brushing against my chest. Every breath she takes pushes them into me and my hands shake with the need to cup them in my palms, feel the weight of them in my hands and run my thumbs over her nipples. This feels worse than being in detox after I quit drinking. It’s worse than the night sweats and the stomach cramps, worse than puking up my guts and blinding headaches that made me want to shove a knife in my eye. I want this woman more than any drug or bottle of booze, and being without her is almost killing me.
“I chose wrong, Lucy. You have to know that. You have to feel that,” I whisper as I stare into her ocean blue eyes.
Her eyelids flutter closed and she leans into me.
“Tell me you still feel it,” I beg softly, moving my face closer to hers, focusing on her lips, already able to taste their sweetness on my tongue and their wet warmth against my own.
“FISHER! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! IT’S YOUR TURN!”
Bobby’s shout from across the room has Lucy jumping away from me guiltily, her eyes flying around the room to make sure no one saw us.
Of course, every eye in the place is on the two of us, standing in the middle of the damn bar. I didn’t think about them, I didn’t care about them, I only cared about touching my girl, getting close to Lucy and reminding her that I’m still here.
“I…I have to go…I have…” Lucy cuts herself off mid-mumble, turns and walks quickly out of the bar without a look back.
Running my hand down my face, I blow out a frustrated breath before turning around and walking over to Bobby and the guys.
“Nice timing, dick head,” I admonish him, punching him in the arm.
“Hey, I was helping you out. Did you really want all of Fisher’s Island watching you kiss her for the first time in a year? That’s just depressing. And here I thought you had moves,” he tells me with a sad shake of his head.
He’s right, and I hate that our first encounter had to happen in a public place, but it was probably for the best that I wasn’t able to go through with that kiss. If we would have been somewhere alone, there’s no telling what the hell I would have done. I’ve gone more than a year without her too many times to count since we’ve been together, but never once was she not there waiting for me when I came home so I could sink myself into her and forget what I’d done when I was away. It bruises my pride and hurts my heart that she wasn’t waiting this time, but I deserve her brush off and more. I want her to scream and shout at me and call me every name she can think of. I want her to remind me of every shitty thing I said and did to her so I can make it right and take it all back. I’m still a sick fuck, but only when it comes to her. I need to do this the right way for once. I can’t let my needs and my fucking dick lead the way and screw this all up before it even begins. I’m going to remind her why we’re perfect for each other. I’m going to show her that there’s no one else on this earth that can love her like I can.
“I’ll give you this, though. Stanford definitely isn’t getting any tonight. Nice cock-blocking moves, my friend,” Bobby says with a laugh as he holds his fist up for me to bump. “Let’s get back to these darts so you can tell me what your plan is for getting her back. I seriously hope it’s better than the shit show you just put on for all of us.”
Before heading over to the dartboards, I take one last look at the door Lucy left through. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to coming back to this island and all of the judgy looks I’d get from everyone here, it’s the best place for me to be. It’s where Lucy and I began, and I’ll be damned if it’s where we’ll end.