Flash

 

I sucked hard at Mickey’s thumb in my mouth and I did this so I wouldn’t pant.

It was very early the next morning.

We were in Mickey’s bed.

We were spooning.

Mickey had his face in my hair.

And I had my hips tilted, Mickey’s finger at my clit, and I was taking his cock.

Suddenly, his thrusts increased in power and velocity, the pressure of his finger magnified, and his mouth was at my ear.

“Fuckin’ get there, Amy,” he growled.

He was close.

But I was too, and his growl shivered down my neck, my shoulder, across my breasts, belly, then gathered between my legs, and with his cock and his finger, I sucked his thumb deep and went soaring.

“Thank fuck,” he gritted, buried his face in my neck, his cock deep and groaned against my skin.

I felt nothing but my orgasm and all that was Mickey, his heat, his strength, the power of his body tensed with his own orgasm.

Then mine glided from me and I relaxed against him and lapped at his thumb.

I knew his had left him too when he slid it out of my mouth and ran it along my lower lip.

His mouth came back to my ear. “You on the Pill?”

“Yes,” I breathed against his thumb.

“You fuckin’ anyone but me?”

I grinned at his ridiculous question.

“No.”

“You trust I’m not takin’ anyone but you?”

I felt my body stiffen because that was huge.

But this was Mickey.

So I whispered, “Yes.”

His fingers at my jaw dug in and I knew he knew what I gave him was huge.

But he didn’t dwell on it.

He asked, “Then you good with ungloved?”

“Yes, Mickey.”

“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “Condoms are history.”

I relaxed into him, sliding a hand up his sinewy forearm and wrapping my fingers around his wrist.

He twisted it, caught my hand and pressed both gently to my throat.

He settled in and I felt his breath stir the top of my hair.

We lay connected for glorious moments before he said, “Thanks for stayin’ the night.”

“You need me, I’m here,” I replied.

I heard the lightness in his tone when he went on, “Thanks for takin’ my cock.”

“You need me, I’m here,” I repeated.

I felt his chuckle and squeezed his hand.

“My heiress wanna loaf in bed while I take a shower?”

I didn’t know what my other choices were, other than get up, get dressed and go home before he had to get his kids up.

Or shower with him.

But truly, a waking-up-being-made-love-to-after-getting-about-five-hours-of-sleep orgasm was maybe the only thing that would encourage me to “loaf” in his bed rather than be naked with him in his shower.

“If I’ve got time, I’m gonna loaf.”

“You got it,” he murmured, kissed my shoulder then slid out of me and the bed.

He pulled the covers up before he walked to the bathroom.

I watched him walk to the bathroom, heard the toilet flush then the shower go on.

I’d been in his room once before, the night I spent there when my kids last left me. I didn’t need to peruse it.

I knew it was nice. Manly. Rhiannon, if she’d ever been there in the decorating scheme, was g-o-n-e gone from there in a way it looked like she’d never existed.

His room, like mine, took up one whole end of his house. It included a big master bathroom toward the backyard that had a double basin, separate shower and the toilet was in its own little room. There was a walk-in closet, only one, but it was huge. The fixtures weren’t old, it had been renovated and that was done sometime relatively recently. Perhaps not last year but if I had to guess, in the last five. If I didn’t have the bathroom to beat all bathrooms and three trust funds that meant I could create any bathroom I wanted, it would have been amazing.

The walls of the bedroom were painted a slate gray that worked with the wood baseboards and amazing tongue and groove ceiling, the wood so dark it was nearly black. He had a fireplace too, one with a stone hearth like the others in his house. That was situated against the wall across from his king-sized, mission-style bed.

He had slate gray sheets that had a sateen sheen. He also had a duvet with a cover, his in dark gray with a hexagon pattern, the lines making the design burgundy.

Between bed and bathroom, there was a large hunk of floor space that he’d filled with two matching club chairs. They shared an ottoman, a sturdy but attractive end table and a standing lamp made in brass. The chairs were covered with clothes (apparently, Mickey didn’t hit the laundry hamper with his clothes either, it looked like he hadn’t done laundry since I met him).

It was clean, though not tidy, exceptionally masculine…and all Mickey.

I loved it.

So I lay happily tangled in his sheets in that room, still feeling Mickey between legs, loafing, snoozing and floating.

“Babe.”

I wasn’t asleep, exactly.

But my eyes were closed.

I opened them to see Mickey in clean work clothes standing beside the bed.

“Time for me to go?” I asked languidly.

“That, right there,” he stated.

I studied him, unsure of his statement, his tone or the intense look on his face.

I began to push up and Mickey ordered, “Don’t fuckin’ move.”

I stilled but held his gaze and whispered, “What’s going on, Mickey?”

“I walked out of my bathroom to that every morning for sixteen years, no way in fuck I’d walk away from it.”

I drew in a sharp breath and remained unmoving as that cut through me and I felt the release.

It wasn’t a bleed.

It was like opening an aching blister to get the fetid ooze out.

“He doesn’t know. He might never know,” Mickey carried on. “But do you know how fuckin’ stupid he is?”

“No,” I replied. “But I do know how fucking lucky I am right now.”

I watched his reaction to that flash in his eyes, but he remained distant until he took the last two steps to the bed and leaned over me.

He brushed the bangs out of my eyes and said softly, “Gotta get you up and dressed. I’ll walk you home and come back and take care of my kids.”

I nodded.

He let his fingers trail down my hairline before he straightened and walked away.

I got up, got dressed and Mickey walked me to my house.

He kissed me in my opened door.

And I watched him walk several steps away from me before I closed it behind him.

* * * * *

The text came mid-morning.

Can Polly and I come after school and hang?

Olympia.

I returned, If you hang while doing your homework and getting some of these recorded shows off my DVR, then yes.

She replied, Deal. Pick us up?

I thought of my car and while I did, I decided to buy an SUV.

Then I returned, Sure, if we take turns. Can’t fit you both in my car.

To which I received, You need a new car Mom. I’ll ask Auden to bring us.

I sent, Do that, sweets. Am I making dinner?

And got, Dinner! Yummy!

My kids liked my cooking. Then again, I cooked like a mom and could do that freely now that Conrad wasn’t around.

I replied, Dinner. Check.

A few hours later, I got a text from Auden that said, Drop Polly and Pip off after school. Pick them up at nine.

To which I sent, Thanks, kid. And I’m thinking of a Cayenne.

And got back, Land Rover. White. Totally you.

I grinned.

Then I changed the girls’ plans when they got there (a change of plans they were ecstatic about) and before homework and dinner, we went out and test-drove Land Rovers.

* * * * *

“You buy a fuckin’ car without me, Amy, it’s gonna piss me off,” Mickey said in my ear.

My daughter and her friend were gone. It was late. Now, I was in bed saying goodnight over the phone to Mickey.

I’d also, obviously, shared my plans to purchase a new vehicle.

“Do you want to test-drive it?” I asked.

“I want you not to get fucked over buying it,” he answered.

“Mickey, car salesmen hardly screw over women anymore,” I scoffed. “They freely screw over everybody.”

“You’re wrong, Amy.”

“It’s not 1968, Mickey.”

“Right, you go in, get the best deal you think you can get, then walk away. I’ll go in after and get the best deal I can get, text you, you come in and we’ll see about that shit.”

“You’re on,” I snapped.

“Tomorrow?”

“Perfect.”

“You pissed?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Because you know you’re goin’ down,” he declared.

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

He chuckled.

I changed the subject. “The kids okay?”

“Tonight, we had the drunk driving talk. They got me as in got me. Tomorrow, before I show you car salesmen are still assholes, I’m goin’ in and havin’ all my teeth pulled without Novocain. Figure that’ll be a whole lot more fun.”

“Oh, Mickey,” I said quietly.

“It’s done. They get me. All I can do. Movin’ on,” he stated.

“Okay,” I said and decided it was time to change the subject again. “So, I was thinking, the kids coming over and things going better, this keeps up for a little while, when they both say they’re coming over together, I can tell them about you. Then, the next time they’re over together, you’ll be here. We can see how it goes when they get here. A quick meet and greet or you casually stay for dinner.”

“Let me know, I gotta rearrange some shit, I’ll do it.”

He’d rearrange some shit for a chance to meet my kids.

And again I was floating.

“Thanks, honey,” I whispered.

“No problem, Amy. Now hate to cut this short, but wanna check on Ash. She’s been quieter than her normal lately and has been in her room all night. Gotta check on my girl.”

That didn’t sound good at all.

But it wasn’t surprising.

“Okay, I’ll let you go.”

“Sleep tight, babe.”

“I will, Mickey. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. And plan to be over for dinner. We’ll get your car, come back and hang out.”

I couldn’t wait.

“Sounds good. ’Night, honey.”

“’Night, baby.”

We hung up. I read a bit.

Then I went to sleep.

* * * * *

Mickey was right.

Car salesmen still screwed over women more than men. He got my Land Rover (I got black, Auden would just have to deal) for several thousand less than I could negotiate the deal.

Cillian and Aisling came with us and hung with me while I tried my hand at the negotiations. I asked for their company because I thought this was added incentive—kids in the mix—that would make the salesmen less inclined to screw me.

I was wrong.

Cillian gloated with his dad.

Through this and all the time I spent with her that day, I found Mickey was right, but it was more.

Aisling was quieter than normal to the point that she was unusually sullen.

It also looked like she wasn’t washing her hair.

This alarmed me.

But I didn’t have a chance to say anything about it until after we had dinner, Ash had retreated to her room and closed the door, and Cill had commandeered the TV to play some game on Xbox.

This forced Mickey and me to lounge on the loveseat on the deck in our jackets.

“She’s not good,” I noted.

“Nope,” Mickey replied, rocking the loveseat with me beside him, curled into him, legs up under me, one of his arms around me, the other hand around the neck of a bottle of a beer he took a tug from after he answered.

“Does she open up to you?” I asked.

“Got no clue how to talk to an almost fifteen-year-old girl with a drunk for a mom,” he replied.

“Is she…does she have moods?” I pressed carefully.

“If you mean, has she started her period? Then yes,” he told me. “That happened last summer. Her mom took care of that. She comes home with boxes of shit Rhiannon gets her. I saw Midol on her dresser, made sure there was more in the bathroom. Didn’t have any sisters but did have a wife for fourteen years, so I got a clue when those kinds of moods strike. Ash gets ’em. This is not one of those.”

“I’m not sure I’m at that place where it’s okay for me to talk to her,” I noted.

“I hear you,” he muttered.

“But we can keep an eye on the situation and if she doesn’t open up to you, regardless if I’m at that place, if you want me to, I’ll go in.”

His arm tightened around me, tucking me closer. “That’d be good.”

He wanted me to.

That made me snuggle even closer.

I did that and took a sip of my wine before I asked, “Do you think they know what’s happening with you and me?”

“On the deck havin’ a drink with you and you’re over a lot. Close with the Gettys that live next door because they moved in when I was eight and never left. They’re welcome here any time. The kids love ’em. But I don’t walk them home, sit close to them on the couch or out on my deck at night, havin’ a beer.”

“Do you think that’s what’s troubling her?” I went on, even though, in the early stages, she seemed to hope her dad and I would get together.

“Again, no clue,” he said.

“You want to meet my kids, Mickey, perhaps you should think on sharing what’s happening with Cill and Ash in an official way,” I suggested. “If it’s out in the open, you can discuss it with her.”

“Great. My Sunday plans look only slightly better than my Friday night plans did.”

I grinned, lifted my head from his shoulder and looked to his jaw. “It’s not like we’re not used to this road being rocky.”

He didn’t look down at me.

He said to the dark night, “You’re right. The fuck of it is, you grow up thinkin’ things are gonna be a certain way and then they end up mostly fucked with moments of decent and flashes of really fuckin’ good.”

I snuggled my cheek to his shoulder, hating that.

Mickey had a boss he did not respect, a job he didn’t like doing that bought him taking a lot of complaints from angry people about decisions he did not make.

He’d had a wife he loved who’d become an alcoholic right before his eyes. He lost her and now she was making him live in fear for his kids not only when they were with her but what her effect was on them when they weren’t.

He needed to become fire chief.

He needed to get his business off the ground.

And Rhiannon needed to sort herself out.

As for me, I needed to do what I could to give Mickey as many flashes of really fucking good as I could.

Mickey read my mood but he read it wrong.

“Sorry, baby, you don’t need my bitching.”

“Actually, I do,” I returned. “Because if you don’t lay it on me, it’ll eat you up inside and your kids need you whole, standing and fighting. So I’ll take whatever you got. It isn’t hard. So you have that and you have what you need to take care of your babies.”

Mickey was silent and the night was still. This lasted so long it made me tense.

“Mickey?”

“Sixteen years. Fuck, that asshole blew it.”

I relaxed against him.

“I spoiled our kids,” I admitted. “Gave them everything they wanted.”

“Yeah, got a dose of that,” he returned.

“Conrad didn’t like it. He talked to me. I didn’t listen.”

“God, fuck, sorry. You’re right. It’s a wonder your kids are functioning instead of in inpatient therapy. Now I get it. You spoiled your kids. That guy had every reason to step out on you.”

There was lightness to his voice but just to be sure, I asked, “Are you joking?”

“Fuck yeah, Amy. Shit,” he answered, his voice shaking.

I pressed my cheek into his chest and also started shaking.

Then audibly giggling.

Mickey audibly chuckled with me.

When I stopped, I lifted my glass and took a sip of wine.

When Mickey stopped, he did the same with his beer.

We fell silent and sat in the dark.

But I did it hoping it was one of Mickey Donovan’s moments of decent.

Or maybe even a hint of a flash of happy.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, my phone on my kitchen counter rang.

I saw it was Mickey calling and I snatched it up, glanced at my landing, saw the TV on and bits of both my kids’ limbs. Neither of them looked my way, so casually, I took the call while walking to the hall and heading toward my bedroom.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Hey back. Havin’ a good day?”

“I think so, although I’m a little concerned about what appears to be evidence that suggests my kids have a serious television habit.”

“They’re there again?”

I made it to my room, silently shut the door and went to my bed to sit on it, saying, “Yes. It’s Sunday but they texted this morning around ten, were here within the hour. We had lunch. We took the Rover out for a spin. And we’re having dinner.”

“This is good, Amy.”

“It is, Mickey. So good. Amazingly good. But a little freaky.”

“Kids watch TV, babe.”

“I know. But something about this isn’t right.”

“How’s that?”

“One minute they’re barely speaking to me. And it wasn’t like the next minute they were. We worked up to it, got over the hump, skidded down the other side.” I crossed my legs under me on my bed. “But now we’re speeding. They’re here a lot and I want them here a lot. I want them here for good. I’d take them here forever. But there’s something about this change that makes me think that either they’re escaping their dad’s or Martine is perpetuating cruel and unusual punishment by not allowing two teenage kids to DVR anything.”

“Maybe they saw they were bein’ hard on you and they’re tryin’ to make up for it,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” I mumbled.

“Go with it. Build on it. And just have this good without makin’ it dark when you don’t know if there’s anything to worry about.”

That was good advice.

“I’ll do that.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, speaking of kids.”

“Oh boy,” I muttered.

“Yeah. Ash and Cill know their friend and next door neighbor, Amy, is Dad’s girlfriend.”

The girlfriend again.

It felt nice again.

But I was still braced.

“And?” I prompted.

“Cill’s cool with it. Not straight up, he looks after his mom, had questions about what this means for me and his mom and it wasn’t real fun to share that there was not ever gonna be a me and his mom again. He came to terms with it without throwin’ a shit fit, which was a surprise but it was good. Ash didn’t have much of a reaction except to say, ‘No kidding, Dad?’ which started to set Cill off because he thought she knew something he didn’t know and he isn’t big on that.”

“But it’s all okay now?”

“Woulda had you over for dinner tonight, but don’t think spendin’ the day with you yesterday then havin’ you back tonight would be good. But I do think, if we keep easin’ them into it, they’ll get there.”

I smiled at the phone. “That’s good.”

“So, tomorrow and Tuesday, I’m at the firehouse. That means phone on your nightstand.”

“Right,” I agreed, still smiling.

“Wednesday, your kids aren’t with you, I’m takin’ you to dinner and a movie.”

Me and Mickey in a dark movie theater.

That sounded fantastic.

“I’d love that, Mickey,” I told him. “But we’re taking my Land Rover.”

“Fine. I drive.”

“You drive?” I asked. “But it’s mine.”

“I strike you as a man who rides?”

“Jimbo drives the fire truck,” I pointed out.

“Jimbo doesn’t have a vagina.”

My back shot straight. “Really?”

“Your ass is in my Expedition in the passenger seat or in the same place in your Rover,” he declared.

“It’s a new car, Mickey. I love it. It took everything I had to allow Auden to take it for a spin today. I wanna drive.”

“Drive around the next coupla days. Wednesday night, you know your choice.”

He was lucky he was so fabulous for the times when he was so annoying.

“You need to get checked,” I snapped. “You clearly have an overabundance of testosterone in a way it’s harmful to your health.”

“Not sure that can even happen,” he replied smoothly.

“The harmful to your health part is me murdering you.”

“You take me out, it’s back to that toy in your nightstand and I’m thinkin’ you don’t want that.”

My head twitched as I asked, “Have you been snooping?”

“Single woman who goes hot quick, babe, took a guess, I was right and I don’t consider it snooping. More like investigating just in case I’m in the mood to shake things up. Any man has gotta have the tools he needs to get the job done.”

That gave me a shiver along with the premonition of an aneurysm.

“Amy?” he called when I didn’t respond.

“Quiet. I’m trying to think if I’ve seen any Internet cafés I can go to to anonymously order poison off the Web.”

“Toy comes out tomorrow night,” he muttered.

Another shiver.

“Are you done annoying me?” I asked.

His smile was in his voice. “For now.”

“Fine. See you tomorrow night.”

“Charge it up, Amy.”

God, he couldn’t be believed.

The problem was I was thinking I loved that about him.

Along with a variety of other things.

“Whatever. Have a good night.”

“’Night, baby.”

With the call with Mickey done for the night, I tossed the phone on my bed and went back out to my kids.

* * * * *

“Yes,” I breathed, I came, Mickey slid my vibrator away and then he slid inside me. “Yes,” I repeated.

We were on our sides, face to face and I had my leg thrown over Mickey’s hip. Even though it lasted a good long while, Mickey let me finish coming before he kissed me, fucked me and again sent me flying.

Condoms being history, after, it was me cleaning up, slipping on a nightie and back into bed with Mickey where he tangled us together and held me close in the dark.

I was snuggled deep, warmed by his body, replete and half asleep before he spoke.

“See, my heiress likes the way I shake things up.”

I opened my eyes and saw his shadowed throat.

“Shut up, Mickey.”

“Think I’m a year older, you came so long.”

I tipped my head back and glared at him through the dark.

“Shut up, Mickey.”

He bent his head and kissed me. It lasted longer than my orgasm, a lot longer and ended with us tangled up tight, his hand on my behind and me pressed so close it was like I wanted him to absorb me.

“Now, go to sleep, baby,” he ordered when he stopped kissing me.

I tucked my face back in his throat and told him, “You’re most annoying.”

“Good you get off on that.”

He was correct.

I decided silence was in order.

I was as close as I could be without Mickey being inside me.

He still pulled me closer.

“Flash,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked sleepily but still managed to inject tartly.

“Of really fuckin’ happy.”

I wasn’t going to cry.

I was not going to cry.

I didn’t cry.

I pushed even closer, kissed my guy’s throat and whispered, “’Night, honey.”

“’Night, Amy.”

I closed my eyes, settled into Mickey, and experiencing my own flash, I fell asleep.

* * * * *

Mickey and I were on our way back from the movie when he said, “Both your kids came to you last night, so I talked to a coupla buds. They’re good with bein’ on call should I need them at the firehouse.”

He had my hand in his resting on my thigh and he was stroking the side with his thumb.

He also was gently reminding me he wanted to meet my kids.

I liked that but I was nervous about it.

“Next time they come again together, I’ll give them the talk,” I promised.

We’d already had the dating discussion and they were absolutely not under the impression their father and I would get back together.

But Mickey was right. Although I didn’t see them on Monday, they both came over after school the day before and stayed well past dinner. And they didn’t even watch a program they DVRed. We all watched a movie on HBO together.

And it was good. It was easy. It was normal. It was what we had three years ago and it was this way like those three years hadn’t happened.

Of course, Auden and I had our brief discussion and it wasn’t a surprise that Olympia didn’t address it. She shied away from confrontation (except when she was fighting with her brother). Not only her own but others. Something that made what I did make me feel even guiltier because she’d seen a lot of that between Conrad, Martine and me.

She wouldn’t broach it. She’d let it lie and move on.

And Mickey was also right that I should rejoice, build on it, let it be and not worry.

But I was a mother, and as removed from my children as I was, I knew them.

Something else was happening.

Until my last breath I wanted them to feel I was their safe harbor.

I just wanted to know, if that’s why they needed me, what I was harboring them from.

Mickey drove to my place, hit the garage door opener and drove right in. I sat beside him, taking my mind from my thoughts by thinking my house was perfect. In that moment, I was thinking that because it had a two-car garage as well as a smaller one-car one next to it that you could get to with its own opener and through a door from the bigger one to the smaller one inside.

The one-car one was perfect for my Mercedes.

The Rover and my son’s Civic got the big one.

See?

Perfect.

He parked. We got out. We went in.

I was wandering to the kitchen, flipping on the pendant lights, asking Mickey, “Do you want a beer?” when the doorbell rang.

I stopped and looked to it.

Mickey, a few paces behind me, had also stopped and he was twisted to it.

The outdoor light was on and I knew the body shaded in the glass.

Conrad.

What was he doing here at this hour?

Or at all?

“Shit, that’s Conrad,” I whispered.

Mickey stayed twisted toward the door, but slowly, his head turned to me.

I caught his look, which meant I caught my breath, and that was unfortunate because I had to focus on breathing and was too late in acting.

This meant Mickey was swiftly prowling toward the door before I got my body to move and my mouth to call, “Mickey, let me.”

He stopped at the door, aimed that dangerous look at me and said one word.

“No.”

Then he turned back to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.

I was five feet away but had a good view of Conrad on my doorstep scowling up at Mickey.

“You do not get to do this,” Mickey growled as I got to him, pressed to the side of his back and put a hand to its small.

Before I could say a word, Conrad looked to me.

“Call your Neanderthal off, Amelia.”

Mickey went solid beside me and I was right there with him.

“Don’t speak about Mickey that way,” I snapped.

“Why?” Conrad bit back. “You felt free to aim your venom at Martine.”

“Yeah, but she isn’t fuckin’ me with your ring on her finger. You got no leg to stand on with that one so get past it, asshole,” Mickey ground out.

Conrad turned angry eyes to Mickey. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do and part of what I know is your woman knew you had to scrape off your wife before she got her own ring from you so she doesn’t have a leg to stand on either,” Mickey returned. “Now, again, get past it and if you got somethin’ to say, say it and then get the fuck outta here.”

Conrad looked back to me. “This man doesn’t know me, he has no call to curse at me.”

“Man, you’re here at ten at night uninvited and unwanted and you rang the bell the minute we got in, so you been layin’ in wait for your attack,” Mickey shot back. “I opened the door and you brought it. You brought it and blew any respect you might have gotten from me. This isn’t your home. You got no rights in this situation. And advice. Fuckin’ grow a pair. No call to curse at you?” he taunted. “Fuckin’ sissy.”

Conrad’s face was hard and his fury was palpable when he turned that to me.

“I’ll thank you to adhere to the custody agreement ordered by the judge,” he stated.

“I’m not kidnapping the kids and forcing them to watch TV here, Conrad,” I replied. “They ask to come. This is their home. They can come anytime they please.”

“If they’re asking to come, as ordered by the court, you should explain you’ve got them one weekend a month and you’ll see them then.”

What a pompous ass.

And further, it could not be believed that he actually wanted to keep our children away from their mother when they wanted to spend time with me.

God! How had I ever been in love with this man?

“I can’t say I read every word, Conrad,” I retorted. “But I don’t think it says anywhere in the court documents that if the children wish to spend additional time with me, I’m not allowed to let them do that.”

“I’ll have my attorneys scour them and if that’s not the case, perhaps I’ll move to see them amended,” Conrad volleyed.

“You do that,” I invited.

“You don’t want to go in front of the judge again, Amelia,” he warned.

“You’re wrong,” I told him. “I so do. I really, really do.”

“You have a very short memory,” he sneered.

“I could say the same thing,” I returned.

“What? A few months of behaving yourself? That won’t go very far,” he scoffed.

“I’m sorry, my mistake. I’ll take one moment to mention that it actually hasn’t been a few months, but over a year. But to the point, it isn’t just your short-term memory that’s lacking. It’s your long-term.”

“My relationship with Martine is no longer a weapon you can use against me,” he declared.

“Perhaps. Though, her and Gail Conway might get me somewhere.”

Gail Conway, the instigator of the sexual harassment suit in Lexington and a woman who had since moved on but who still very much disliked Dr. Conrad Moss.

Conrad blanched.

Bulls-eye.

“If that isn’t enough, I’ll add Hillary Schmidt,” I went on.

Ms. Schmidt did not file a suit, but she wasn’t too happy Conrad slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ed her while he was also wooing Martine, this going on for six months.

I couldn’t say I was overjoyed to see the fear flash across his face.

But it didn’t suck.

“And Erin McIntyre,” I kept going.

Obviously, I’d had a report from my attorney.

And he had a very good investigator.

“I would refrain from trying to get to them,” I advised. “They’ve already agreed to be deposed. Jumped at the chance, actually. They aren’t real big fans of yours.”

His face twisted and, really, how had I ever been in love with him?

“So this is your new tactic?” he bit out.

“No. This is your warning,” I replied. “You do not keep my children away from me. You allow them to come when they please,” still standing close to Mickey, I leaned into Conrad, “without one peep.” I leaned back. “And when I speak to them about making that a regular thing, suggest sharing custody and they agree, you’ll not only also agree, you’ll fucking champion it. Other than that, you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll also keep your wife’s mouth shut. Or we will be back in front of a judge, Conrad. But this time, I’ll eviscerate you.”

“The Hathaway comes out,” he sniped.

“At least they gave me something,” I fired back.

“You’ll regret this, Amelia,” he threatened.

On this, clearly, not liking me being threatened, Mickey shifted a little so he was between Conrad and me.

When he did this, I fell a little more in love with Mickey Donovan.

And I was falling in love.

Tumbling.

Head over feet.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t feel all the goodness of that. Conrad was there being an ass.

“Too late,” I replied. “I’m already deep in regret that I wasted twenty-two years on you when you weren’t worth a minute.” I delivered that, peering around Mickey’s arm to do it.

“You’re done,” Mickey stated right after I was done speaking and right when Conrad opened his mouth to retort.

Conrad’s eyes jerked to Mickey.

Then he jerked them right back to me. “You share any of the dirt you dug up on me with our children—”

“I could bang my chest and drag you to your truck by your throat,” Mickey suggested and Conrad’s eyes flew back to him. “That way, you might get me.”

“You touch me, I press charges,” he warned.

Mickey looked down at me. “I feel some grunts comin’ on. You wanna go get my club?”

I started giggling.

“Fuck you,” Conrad spat.

Mickey looked to him and lifted his brows. “Now who’s cursing?”

Conrad looked ready to explode but he had no choice but to scowl, turn and stomp away.

Mickey backed up and with our proximity he took me with him. He shut the door and locked it.

He then turned and again looked down at me.

“Babe. Seriously. You’re a fun date.”

I burst out laughing.

While I kept doing it, Mickey’s arms stole around me.

I put my hands to his chest, slid them up and curled them around the sides of his neck.

However, when I sobered, I saw Mickey didn’t find anything funny.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

He studied me closely.

I snuggled into him and assured, “I’m fine, Mickey.”

“He’s not a dick, Amy. He’s a motherfucking dick.”

“Yep,” I repeated.

He looked to the door and back to me. “You gonna get any blowback from that?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. If I do, I’ll deal. He’s already done his worst, I survived and now I’m standing in my fabulous house in a magnificent man’s arms. He no longer has any weapons that could harm me.”

His arms convulsed on “magnificent man,” but when I was done talking, he warned, “Watch your shit with that guy. He’s a man with a little dick but he still likes to swing it.”

I hadn’t really thought about it but having a man as endowed as Mickey, it occurred to me this was quite accurate.

“I’ll watch my shit,” I promised.

“Good,” he muttered then asked, “We done with that?”

“Yeah, Mickey.”

He was back to muttering. “Excellent.” He let me go, grabbed my hand and tugged me across the landing, announcing, “You owe me a hard fuck on that weird couch by your fireplace, baby.”

I absolutely did.

“It’s a daybed,” I informed him.

“Whatever. It’s sturdy.”

I thought it was fabulously stylish but Mickey wasn’t wrong.

It was sturdy.

I knew this already but Mickey and I put it to the test.

It passed.