The 'Burg: Hold On Part 26

Staring at the parking lot, Garrett made a decision.

He'd give her a week.

He took a drag, inhaled, let it go, and decided it was time to cut back in order to prepare to stop altogether. Ethan did not hide he dug having Garrett around that morning like he never hid he dug having Garrett or any of the men around.

It was over three decades ago, but he didn't forget what it was like to be a kid that age, drinking up all that was around you, storing it inside to let evaporate the s.h.i.t you didn't need so the man you wanted to be could flood out when the time was right.

He didn't need to give Ethan the idea anything was cool that was not.

So the smokes had to go.

He was bending to stub it out when he saw headlights in the parking lot. With mild curiosity, he looked that way and saw a car driving through the lot to get to the other side of his building where the tenants and their guests parked their cars.

But he knew that silver Land Rover.

She could not be serious.

Christ, he thought this bulls.h.i.t was over.

"f.u.c.k," he hissed, scowling at the Rover while straightening.

He walked inside, slid the door closed, and secured it. He then moved to the kitchen bar and tossed his phone on it, not wanting to do that but instead wanting to call Cher, talk out their s.h.i.t, and not go to sleep on it the way things were. Or, at the very least, text her something to let her off the hook thinking he was still p.i.s.sed at her.

That wasn't giving her time, so he didn't do that.

Instead, he did what he absolutely did not want to do.

When the knock came at his door, he walked to it, looked out the peephole, and felt his jaw set.

He slid off the chain, turned the bolt, and opened the door.

He moved firmly into it and looked down at his ex-wife.

She was shorter than Cher by several inches. She had lots of red, wavy hair whereas Cher's blonde brushed just past her shoulders. She had green eyes that flashed with fire or humor, not Cher's dark brown that, even when she didn't know it and wouldn't want it, shone with warmth.

And right then, Mia Merrick was in the mood to play games.

"Go home, Mia," he ordered.

She looked up at him, eyes hooded, but he could read them. He'd had years of that. The woman couldn't hide anything from him.

She was angry.

And she was something else too.

"Haven't heard from you in a while, Merry," she said softly.

"Sorry. My bad," he replied. "Congratulations, babe. Wish you all the best," he told her with far less emotion than he'd spoken to Cher that morning, which meant his voice was a black void it was a wonder the b.i.t.c.h didn't disappear into.

Unfortunately, she didn't.

He watched a slow grin lift her lips.

She thought she'd read him.

She might have heard about him and Cher, it was doubtful she hadn't, but even if she did, she didn't know she'd lost the ability to read him six days ago.

She thought his words hid jealousy.

She leaned closer to him.

He swung back but did it studying her.

Pretty. So f.u.c.king pretty. A little minx. He'd thought she was his little minx. Got off on that. b.i.t.c.h was wicked.

And he'd been wrong.

He couldn't totally read her because he was the a.s.shole who didn't read for the five years they were apart that her wicked games were poisonous.

"Mia, go home," he repeated.

"You want me to go?" she asked, leaning further into him, pressing her t.i.ts into his chest.

He instantly pulled back.

Her eyes narrowed and she shot out a hand to cup his crotch.

She barely got her hand on him before he moved his between them. Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he yanked it away, listening to her surprised cry when he used precisely the strength he intended, making the hold he had on her bite just enough to make a point.

"What the f.u.c.k's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Merry," she whispered, twisting her hand in his hold to try to get away, uncertainty in her features now.

He jerked her forward and she gave another surprised cry as he bent to get in her face.

"Listen to me," he growled. "You do not ever come here again. You sell that house. You pack your bags. You get your a.s.s to Bloomington. And you forget I exist."

She looked into his eyes, the uncertainty gone, the training he'd given her that she owned his d.i.c.k and could lead him around by it shining from them now. "You don't mean that."

"You have another man's ring on your finger," he reminded her.

"Like that means anything to you," she retorted.

"f.u.c.k," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "Do you not know me at all?"

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. "I know you better than you know you, baby."

He used her wrist to give her a slight shake, and her eyes shot back up to his. "No, b.i.t.c.h," he bit out. "You don't. You wanna come and play and you made no promises that a man's countin' on to live the future he's got mapped out with you, that's one thing. This s.h.i.t...it's another. You wanna be that c.u.n.t who f.u.c.ks over her guy, have at it. But you're not usin' me to get you off playin' your games."

"If it's that big a deal to you, Merry, while you f.u.c.k me, I'll take his ring off," she offered.

f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.

How the f.u.c.k had he not seen this before?

She came to him. It wasn't rare; it wasn't frequent.

But she came to him when she'd had a bad day..."and I just want to be with you, Merry." Or when she'd had a go 'round with her mom..."and no one will get it like you, Merry." Or when she felt..."we need to talk, Merry."

What she needed was to f.u.c.k, for someone to get her off like, apparently, no one else could, and it took her little time to talk him around to that mostly because she'd put her hands or mouth on him and they wouldn't talk at all.

He didn't comfort her. He didn't listen to her.

And most of the time, she'd be gone before he woke, or he'd lie in bed, watching her dress and listening to her say, "Gotta go, baby. I'll call you."

She wouldn't call.

But she also wouldn't hesitate to come back when she needed another dose of his d.i.c.k.

He'd thought, one day, she wouldn't get up early and sneak out. One of those times, she wouldn't dress while he watched then leave, but instead come back to him and say s.h.i.t like, "Dinner tonight. It's clear neither of us can let this go. Let's work it out."

He'd thought her coming at all said they weren't done. The door was open. He just had to walk through.

When that didn't happen, he felt like the a.s.shole because he didn't ask for it, didn't push it, didn't point out that the finality of signing divorce papers was bulls.h.i.t for the both of them.

She hadn't led him on. He'd fully partic.i.p.ated and he was not a dumb f.u.c.k. He knew early what was going on.

That didn't mean he didn't feel she was leaving that door open.

Friday night, he thought she'd gotten fed up and closed the door.

It p.i.s.sed him off more than Cher's rant that morning, not only that he'd been wrong but, with Mia's most recent visit, how he had.

The past few days, he'd been recognizing Mia's games for what they were, and it sat like a weight in his gut that information was confirmed.

He pushed her off, taking a step back and wrapping his fingers around the edge of the door. "Go home, Mia."

She shook her head like she was clearing it and her brows drew together. "Are you serious?"

He stared down his nose at her. "You know, woman, I'm not a cheat, on either side of that deal. How the f.u.c.k you got it in your head you could come here tonight, I don't know. But this is done. And just to make things clear to you, Mia, even if it doesn't work out with that guy, when I say this is done, I mean that any way it can mean. This s.h.i.t is done because we are done."

She stared up at him, stunned.

"But...we're never done," she informed him.

"Never just became a f.u.c.kuva lot shorter," he informed her, stepped back and shut the door in her face.

He locked it and turned away.

She didn't knock again, and it was good she didn't bother because he hadn't lied.

They were done.

Christ, it sucked in ways she'd never understand that Cher didn't recognize the f.u.c.ked-up mess they already had was a f.u.c.kuva lot healthier than the f.u.c.ked-up mess he and Mia had become.

All of a sudden this thought made him smile, because if Cher was right there and he could've shared that with her, she'd bust out laughing.

Garrett turned out the lights and headed to the bedroom thinking, yeah, his brown-eyed girl had a week. That was as long as he was prepared to sit on his a.s.s and wait for her to come to him.

If she didn't, she was ready or not, he was going to her.

Chapter Eight.

A Week Cher Thursday Afternoon My phone sounded with a text as I drove home from the grocery store, six bags of s.h.i.t that had absolutely no nutritional value in the back of my car (plus four of those baby carrots snack packs).

In other words, I was good to go to keep my "cool mom" crown because Ethan and Everest were going to hit the better-living-through-chemistry food mother lode at about five tomorrow night when Everest came for his sleepover.

I'd also stopped by the bank and opened a new account with Trent and Peggy's thirty-five hundred dollars. It and anything else they gave me was going to stay set aside.

I didn't know why I did this, I just felt it prudent.

And if nothing came of whatever they planned to do but them giving me that money (as well as the hundred bucks every two weeks that they'd promised), then at least it was in a savings account earning interest until whenever I deemed it time to hand it over to Ethan.

I parked in my driveway and grabbed my phone.

The text was as I'd feared-not from Merry.

It was from Trent.

Call me. We need to talk.

I threw my phone back in my purse, got out, grabbed the bags, and took them in the house.

It was after I'd put everything away that I got my phone out again.

Just got back from the grocery store. I'm worried that my nutritional selections for my kid are preserving his body for science. So I bought carrots.

I stared at the text I typed in Merry's text string, the bubble hovering over it still declaring DONE.

Then I backs.p.a.ced through the text, tossed my phone on my purse, and walked out of the kitchen.