He had his Harley.
He had his boat.
He had his truck and a life with no strings, so if he wanted out, a break to take off, to live life, he did it.
And came home feeling empty.
Hell, he was already empty.
The fuck of it was, he had no clue if it was better to stay empty or get filled up, get used to that feeling and endure losing it. Losing it to a fight that leads to a breakup. To stupid shit that leads to a breakup. To something tragic that leads to heartbreak…and more empty.
He knew the answer to that getting shot of Mia.
It felt worse being empty. Having no one to be with. No one to share with.
Nothing to live for.
Still, the thought of the loss paralyzed him because he’d felt it before.
He put these thoughts aside, nabbed a knife, and was about to turn to the fridge to get the cream cheese when he saw Cher’s hand setting it on the counter by the plate.
Then she fit her front to his back, wrapped her arms around his stomach, and pressed her cheek to his lat.
She said nothing.
She just held on.
He opened the cream cheese, dug in with the knife, and started spreading.
“This place sucks,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” she whispered, holding on.
“A mortgage might suck more,” he told her.
“Don’t know, never had one,” she replied and pressed closer, held on tighter. “Just know you’re too good of a guy and you work too hard to live in a place like this. You deserve more, Merry. You deserve to go home to a place that kicks ass. That’s all I know. It might not be that house. It might be another condo but a better one. It might be somewhere else. It’s just not here.”
He made the decision to lighten the mood, stopped smearing, put the knife on the plate, and turned in her arms.
He took her in his.
“I’m gettin’ from this you don’t like my pad,” he teased.
She grinned up at him, rolled up on her toes, and slid her arms from around him to his front, gliding them up his chest to hold on to his shoulders as she leaned her weight into him and he leaned his to the counter.
But even through her grin, her eyes were serious.
So were her words.
“You deserve better.”
Her words aimed true, like an antidote to fight the poison congealing in his gut.
It was fast-acting.
Instant.
And losing that sick just because she gave him three words, Garrett decided the bagels could wait.
He was making love to her now.
Which was what he did, dipping his head and taking her mouth before he took her back to his bed.
He didn’t bang her.
He took his time. He concentrated solely on giving it to Cher, building it for her, stopping her when she tried to give back, giving her more to turn her attention, only going along for the ride.
It was lazy. It was slow. It was tender.
And when they were done, everything she had wrapped tight around him, she gave him that look she’d given him the night before—soft, sweet, warm, cute…loving.
He locked it inside again.
They got dressed and had to hurry to go pick up Ethan on time.
So they ate their bagels in his truck.
* * * * *
Sunday Afternoon
Garrett stood at the window by Raquel and Tanner’s dining room table.
His eyes were aimed outside.
Tanner was standing out there on their porch. The underground pool that took up most of the yard he’d put in for his wife was covered for the winter. His daughter was at his hip. His yellow lab, Blondie, was bouncing around three feet away from his legs, her eyes glued to CeeCee.
This was because CeeCee had Blondie’s tennis ball.
She threw it, which meant she mostly dropped it. It bounced on the cement a couple of inches from Tanner’s feet.
But Blondie, being a great dog, bounded toward it and made a show of grabbing it like CeeCee threw it thirty feet.
Cecelia watched this and Garrett heard his niece’s peal of laughter.
Blondie dropped the ball in Tanner’s hand. When he got it, with a sharp sidearm throw, he quickly sent the ball sailing thirty feet.
Blondie took off after it.
CeeCee let out another peal of laughter.
“It get better?” he asked the window.
“It gets better, Merry.”
At his sister’s answer, he turned his head to see her sitting at the dining room table, her eyes on him.
“It go away?” he asked.
She held his gaze a moment before she nodded.
“Yeah, honey. It goes away,” she said softly.
“Totally?” he asked.
Her gaze was soft. There was pain.
There was also hope.
“Not totally,” she whispered. “But it’s just a sting, Merry. You get it. You feel it. The big thing is, you understand it. Just what it is. And since you do, you can move on.”
“I’m fallin’ in love with her, Rocky,” he whispered back.
Slowly, his sister’s lips curled up in a smile as her eyes got bright.
“I can’t turn this to shit,” he told her.
“You won’t,” she replied.
“It’s her. She deserves to be happy. She hasn’t had that and she deserves it. I’m givin’ that to her and it feels great. But it’s also her kid. Ethan’s fuckin’ amazing, Raquel. He wants good for his mom, but he deserves good in his life too. For both of them…I cannot turn this to shit.”
“You won’t,” his sister repeated.
He looked back out the window.
CeeCee had the ball again. And again, she threw it right at her father’s feet.
Blondie retrieved it.
Tanner took it and let it fly.