The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(146)

Dear Lord. “Roman, what happened to you?”

“As if you didn’t know. You poisoned me,” he growls, and I have no idea what he is talking about.

“Roman,” I start, but he interrupts me.

“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even f*cking breathe without you in my head, your taste on my tongue, your f*cking scent filling my lungs. I told you to leave, Ana. I told you to get the f*ck away from me. Why won’t you leave me alone to die in peace?” he growls at me, except it’s not at me. I get the feeling he doesn’t think I’m really here.

I rub my palm across my forehead. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it. There’s no talking to Roman like this. I don’t even know what this means. The only thing that is clear is that he’s missed me. He’s been as miserable as I have. If I hadn’t had the baby to think about these months without him, would I have been in much the same shape? Probably.

Roman might not realize it, but we’re made for each other. I pick up the phone and dial Allen’s cell.

“Sis?”

“You and Bruno need to come help me sober up the father of my child.”

“Sis?” he asks again.

“You got me here, Allen. Now help me,” I order him, hanging up. I look over at Roman who is snoring now, and I can almost smile.





As soon as my head quits trying to kill me, I’m going to fire Bruno and Allen. I wince as the light from the window shines through, the blinds pulled up. Who the f*ck did that? And why am I in this damn room? I don’t sleep in this bed. I can’t sleep in this bed. Ana haunts me here.

Fuck. She haunts me everywhere.

I look down at the bed and notice there are clean sheets on it. Even so, I can still smell the faint trace of Ana’s perfume on them. My dick jerks awake, but I ignore the f*cker. He and I both are getting tired of using my hand. I get out of bed, frowning when I see a clean pair of jogging pants lying across the nightstand. I slip them on, ignoring how even the slightest movement causes pain to radiate through my joints and center in the mother of all hangovers that has taken up residence behind my eyes. Even my f*cking teeth hurt. I’m way too f*cking sober. I’ve been drunk for months now and today is not the day to try being sober. I walk out of the room, intent on finding another bottle of whiskey and maybe some leftover pizza. I think there’s some left in one of the boxes in the kitchen.

I stop when I enter the den and there are three women in uniforms cleaning the room. They’re wearing black pants and gray shirts that proclaim them “Helping Hand Maid Service”. What the f*ck? I wrench a vacuum cleaner out of the hand of one of them and shut the son of a bitch off.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” I growl, the roar of my voice hurting me, but not nearly as much as the vacuum was doing. The ladies look at me like I’m the insane one, which is crazy because they’re the ones trespassing. “I mean it! I want to know what the f*ck you are doing here and who let you in!”

“They’re cleaning.”

My breath lodges in my chest and I’m afraid to f*cking turn around—afraid it’s her, afraid it’s not. Jesus.

“Ladies, if you could, go ahead and move to the kitchen. We can finish in here after Mr. Anthes and I talk.”

They hustle out, and still I’m unable to turn around. I take the coward’s way out and, instead, walk to the window. I stare out at the rolling green grass of my yard and try to figure out exactly what is going on.

“What are you doing here, Ana?” I ask when I can’t stand the silence any longer.

“Bruno and Allen came and got me. They said you needed me.”

“I didn’t ask them to,” I grumble, my hand coming up to rub my chin.

“I know. Were they telling me the truth?”

“About what?”

“Do you need me, Roman?”

Yes, my brain screams out, but I don’t say that. I can’t. I go to turn around instead, needing to figure out how to talk to her and make her stay without giving in. “Ana…”

“Don’t turn around, Roman. If you’re just going to send me away again, keep your back turned to me. You owe me that. I don’t want to have to see your face if all you are going to do is send me away again. I can’t handle that.”

“Have you missed me, Ana?”

“With every breath that I draw,” she whispers, and it feels like there’s this fist around my heart. Her confession is raw and maybe I just want to believe it. I’m not sure, but it feels honest. It feels like truth, so I give her one of my own.

“I miss you too, pet.”

“Then don’t send me away again, Roman. Let me come home. I know my lies hurt you, but I never lied about anything that was important. I love you.”

Let her come home. Does she have any idea how much I want that? Does she know what it did to me to know that I pushed her away thinking she had planted evidence on me, only to find out Robert had done it? Does she have any idea the hell I’ve gone through knowing I pushed away my only chance at happiness? I used to think love was a lie invented by Hollywood, a dream created to sell books and movies. Survival was the only thing I understand, and maybe it still is, because I know I need Ana in my life to survive. Without her, I don’t want to. I don’t want to live one more day without her.