Creed (Unfinished Hero #2)(25)

“They’re all just cocks,” I retorted.

He shook his head and his fingers tightened around my wrist as he leaned into me. “I had you.”

“No one has me.”

“I had you.”

I leaned into him and snapped, “No one ever has me.” I ignored the flash in his eyes and I ignored how easy it was to read, how hard it was to see that in his eyes. I ignored all of it and yanked at my hand.

He didn’t release me.

“Let me go,” I demanded harshly.

He let me go.

I jumped off the couch and moved to my clothes. I pulled on the tank and my jeans and left my panties, bra, socks and boots where they lay.

By the time I turned back, he had his jeans up and half buttoned.

I looked from his crotch to his eyes.

“Guest bedroom is a pit but, you dig deep enough, you’ll find a bed. You look hard enough, you’ll find sheets for the bed. I’m going out. Sweet dreams.”

I moved toward the door trying to decide if it was a bourbon or tequila night.

“I couldn’t have you, I’d have that.”

His words made me stop dead but I didn’t turn. I didn’t move.

Years passed.

Then he spoke again, quieter.

“I never thought I’d see you again. I couldn’t have you, I’d have that part of you. That part of us. Kids named what we agreed so every time I said the names of the kids I loved, I’d remember you and I’d have that part of you with me.”

Jesus.

He could not be serious.

Jesus.

Someone kill me.

I turned then and looked him straight in the eye.

“You are so full of shit.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” I clipped.

“You believe that, I’ll give you her number. You call Chelle. Ask why she divorced me.”

I hitched a hip just as I put a hand to it and asked flippantly, “That’ll be interesting, Creed, what’ll she tell me?”

“That she filed for the same reason you lost your mind tonight. She filed when she found out why I insisted on naming our kids. She filed because of why I named our kids those names. And she filed because she was done bein’ married to man who was in love with a f**kin’ ghost.”

It took effort but I just managed to ignore his verbal blows pummeling the breath clean out of me.

“So you’re an equal opportunity ass**le, doing that to her at the same time you did it to me,” I noted.

“Yep,” he agreed. “Still don’t give a f**k which is why it’s good she’s shot of me. Decent woman. Never should have done it to her. I got them, I got her part of them and I got you in them. The way I saw it, I had a lifetime of livin’ without what I most wanted, made certain I got all I wanted outta that. I like it like that and I’d do it again.”

Seriously, this dickhead could not be believed.

“You are an ass**le,” I bit off.

“Didn’t deny it. Live with it every day. You don’t have to repeat it.”

“How’d she find out?”

“I told her. On your birthday seven years ago. The one day she never got. The one day every year I’d get shitfaced hammered out of my mind, all alone, just me. Difference that year was she didn’t let me be. She pushed it. So she got it. All of it. Best thing that ever happened to her. Finally meant she could be free of the ass**le that’s me.”

“Lucky her, now she probably celebrates my birthday.”

“No,” he shook his head. “For me it was you. For her it was me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I ignored that and stated, “I wasn’t a ghost, Creed.” I motioned to myself with my free hand. “As you can see, I’m alive and well.”

“You were a ghost to me.”

“Your choice.”

“No it wasn’t,” he returned immediately. “Dig deep and you know it.”

I felt my eyes narrow, I leaned in and hissed, “I don’t know shit.”

“Know this,” he growled and turned his back to me. It was a move so surprising, I didn’t have a chance not only to retreat but even to brace.

At what I saw, I couldn’t control it. I sucked in a sharp, audible breath.

I’d drawn blood on his back as well as his neck and you could see other scratch marks.

None of them marred the tattoo that spanned the entirety of his skin.

A pier.

A lake.

A horizon.

The sun shining.

And along the pier a name spelled out in flowers up the indent of his lower spine.

“Sylvie”.

He turned to face me again but my eyes stayed at the wall of his chest, the vision of his back burned in my brain.

“I been back not even a whole f**kin’ day, Sylvie,” he went on and my eyes cut to his face. “And we’re f**kin’ on the floor of your back room amidst a pile of f**kin’ ziti.”

“You f**king motherf*cker,” I whispered.

He ignored me and asked, “You get yet that we need to talk?”

I shook my head and ignored the pit in my stomach.

“We’re not gonna talk.”

He tore a hand through his hair and bit out, “Fuck, Sylvie.”