Limitless Love (Lotus House #4)(38)

Monet went to get up but I stayed her movement. “I’ll walk them out.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

Once they left, I checked on Lily and Will. The baby was already asleep on a pallet of blankets on the floor in front of the TV. Lily was lying next to him. She turned her head and lifted a finger to her lips and made a shushing sound.

“Baby’s sweeping.”

“Sleeping. He’s sleeping, not sweeping.”

“Shhh, King Clay.”

I chuckled, ruffled her hair, and went back to our friends. Atlas was now singing a song he’d just written for an up-and-coming male singer Knight & Day Productions had signed. The guy he was writing for had a grunge approach and alternative appeal that hadn’t been given a go in the music industry for a solid twenty years.

Atlas belted out the chorus of the new song.



* * *



Take me away from here…

From the things that harm.

It’s cold and strange…

alone…

Never warm.

Take me away from here, bring me home.



* * *



His voice flowed and ebbed like a wave, and when he finished, the character’s fear and anxiety fell away with the lyrics of the song.

“Damn, Curly, you’re so talented.” Mila grabbed Atlas’s face and laid a wet kiss on his lips. “That song is going to be a hit when that new kid sings it and works with you to put his spin on it.”

He smiled. “I think so.”

“Man, it’s really great,” Trent added.

“You can tell the guy is tortured and searching for something more out of life. A home. Something we all need to feel at peace,” Genevieve contributed.

Boy, Viv hit the nail on the head with her insightful comment. I could relate to the guy in the song. He wanted to get away from the world that made him feel out of place. He wanted to find a home where he could be at peace within his soul. I too had been looking for that very thing. I glanced at Monet, her skin glowing against the light of the lamp behind her. Her lips glistened and I watched her pucker them in thought. Her beauty floored me, but in that moment, sitting around our friends, being touched by a song that could tell the story of my life, she was so much more. She was my future.

“I like the part about him wanting to be brought home. I can relate to that,” Monet said, her body flush against the arm of the couch, one hand holding up her head.

For a while we all just sat, sipping our drinks and listening to Atlas entertain us, until the phone rang.

Monet grabbed the handheld sitting on the table near her side. She looked at the display and frowned before bringing it to her ear. “Hello?” she said and walked out of the room, probably to hear better. I watched as she stopped midstride in the entry to the kitchen. One of her hands flew out to the wall as if she needed to hold herself up.

A sense of dread prickled against my spine as I watched her body bow and shoulders fall. Her head turned toward me, her eyes flat and lifeless. Her entire face went white as a sheet. Shit!



* * *



“You think you can hide away in your house and I wouldn’t know where you were, huh? You stupid bitch.” An angry, hateful voice ripped through the line.

My heart started pounding and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“You think what I did to you was the worst of it? Oh no. I have so much more planned for you.” Again that voice, hateful and ugly, but I recognized it.

It took me several moments, though, to understand what I was hearing.

“Kyle?” I knew it deep down to my soul that my ex, my attacker, was on the line. The sensation of acid burning my skin filtered through every pore as I held the receiver tighter and tried not to be frightened.

Breathe, Monet. Breathe. He doesn’t control you.

“You know, Monet, I have dreamed every night about slitting your throat and watching you bleed out onto the concrete floor of that garage.”

I reached for my neck on instinct. My throat tightened and I slammed my hand against the wall, trying to breathe and calm down. “No, Kyle, no. Why?” The words were small, childlike, and filled with sorrow.

He chuckled as though what he was doing was nothing more than a sick game. “Monet, you stupid cunt. I told you. That money you have should have been ours. You’re just wasting it away on that beaker baby and that fucktard friend of yours. You’re probably buying her bullshit art now too.”

I clenched my teeth, my entire body now shaking uncontrollably. “I gave you everything,” I choked out, gripping the phone as hard as I could even though I wanted to smash it against the wall. He’d been my husband, the man I opened my heart and body to. At one point, he’d been everything to me. I thought I was to him, too. We’d been happy. For a time.

He laughed manically, the sound cold and toxic—a laugh I’d never heard from his lips before. “You gave me nothing but a limp dick. That’s why I couldn’t get you pregnant. Then you had to go and stuff your cunt full of someone else’s sperm. Good fucking riddance.”

“Monet…” I heard Clayton’s voice from behind me. “Who’s on the phone?” he demanded.

I ignored Clay and focused on my ex. “Kyle, you can’t possibly hate me this much. I didn’t do anything. I was a good wife.” God, I gave him everything. Made dinner every night, provided us a home, a child. I’d supported all that he loved and encouraged him to do what he wanted to do. Never demeaned him or his manhood.