“When was the last time you went to a meeting?”
Trying to recall, I shake my hair away from my eyes and thread my fingers through the locks.
“I don’t know…a week ago, maybe two…” I don’t even know what fucking day it is. Since all that shit imploded at the garage, every day has blended into the next. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the fucking night.
“Reckon it’s time you get yourself to the community center. I’ll come with you,” he offers.
“When does it stop, Billy? When does it go away?”
“It doesn’t Blackie. You just gotta keep reminding yourself that you’re stronger than your addictions. You’re a capable man worthy of God’s blessings. You have a beautiful wife who loves you and brothers that respect you. They need you, Black. They need you to be your best version of yourself.”
Billy knows I’m part of a motorcycle club, but I’ve never divulged what that entails. He might assume but doesn’t know the blood I’ve seen or the hell I’ve caused. If he did, he wouldn’t think I’m worthy of shit.
“Blackie,” he calls.
“I’m here,” I say hoarsely.
“Let’s recite the serenity prayer,” he encourages.
“Billy—”
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.”
He pauses, waiting for me to join him. It’s ridiculous to think a prayer can help but I entertain the man. After all, it’s the least I can do after waking him.
“Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“You can’t change the fact that you’re an addict, but you can dig deep inside your soul and find the courage you need to change how you handle it. You did that by picking up the phone and calling me.”
I guess I did.
“You could’ve jumped on that bike of yours and hit up a grocery store for booze or called your dealer for a hit. Instead, you called me.”
“I called you,” I repeat, drawing out a sigh as I look back towards the clock. “Shit, Billy, I’m fucking sorry man.”
“You got nothing to be sorry for, Blackie. My phone is always on. You call any time, you hear me?”
“Yeah, man, I hear you,” I say hoarsely. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been there, man. I’ve lived it too. It doesn’t go away, but it does get easier. You gotta clear that fog from your head, open your eyes and see what life has to offer. Stop looking down at the bottom of a bottle and start looking up at the beauty that surrounds you. Got a lot of life in you to live, kid. Got a lot of memories to make with that woman of yours. Quit thinking you’re drowning and fucking hold your head high. Breathe, Blackie, just fucking breathe.”
“Breathe,” I repeat.
“Yeah, man, breathe. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”
No, I don’t but from this moment forward, I’m damn well going to fucking try. If not for myself then for Lacey. For the baby that’s going to look at me like those innocent kids looked at Yankovich. For the beauty that surrounds me and the blessings God grants me.
Breathe.
Come Hell or high water, I’m going to learn how the fuck to breathe.
Chapter Three
Lacey
Opening my eyes, I lift my arms above my head and stretch. My body aches in the most intimate places and the scent of sex lingers heavily in the air, both of which remind me of all the ways my husband made love to me last night. With a smile firmly planted on my lips, I roll onto my side and reach for my man, but my hands come up short as I stare at his empty side of the bed.
“Lookin’ for something?”
At the sound of his gruff voice my smile widens, and I glance over my shoulder. Fresh out of the shower, wearing a pair of sweats that ride low on his waist, he stands in the doorway of the connecting bathroom with his arms raised above his head, gripping the doorjamb. His long, wet hair frames his ruggedly handsome face and I curl my fingers into the sheets, wishing I could comb them through his locks. There are some things I’ll never get enough of and one of those things is Blackie’s hair.
Mindlessly, I continue to stare at him as he drops his arms and pads across the room, taking in the scruff that lines his jaw and his chocolate colored eyes as they work me over. Instantly, I’m transcended back in time, to when he was in the hospital recovering from an overdose. Then, I was just a lovesick girl, battling depression, wishing and praying he would love me a fraction of the way I loved him. I lived for stolen moments and dangerously toed the line drawn between us any chance I got, never imagining I’d one day be his wife. That one day I’d be scrambling to my knees on our bed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he bends his head and touches his mouth to my shoulder.
“Good morning,” I murmur, angling my head to give him access to my neck. His scruff brushes against my skin as he trails his mouth up the column of my neck. Planting his hands on my ass, he squeezes me and pulls me closer to him.
“Yeah, it is,” he rasps against my skin before slowly peeling his mouth away from my neck. Leaning back, he lifts a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “God, you’re fucking pretty in the morning. Best sight I ever saw.”
Inching closer, I peck his lips.
“Lies,” I tease. “I look—”
“You look thoroughly fucked,” he interjects, giving my lips another kiss. I part my lips and wait for his tongue but it’s his turn to tease me and he pulls away before I can taste him. Humor dances in his eyes as I snap my lips together and glare at him. “What’s the matter, girl?” he taunts. “You didn’t have enough?”
“Two can play this game, Petra,” I huff. Giving his rock-hard abs a shove, I shuffle out of the bed and push him out of my way. As I move away from him, his arm snakes around my stomach and his front presses against my back. His erection strains against the thin barrier of his sweatpants and teases my ass.
“Like it when you’re all worked up, Lace,” he growls, touching his lips to my ear. Gently, he glides his fingers down my stomach. My breath hitches and naturally my legs part, welcoming his stroke. I don’t know who has more stamina, me or him, but I pray we’re always like this. That twenty years from now, we’re still the couple that can’t keep their hands off one another.
He slips two fingers inside my pussy and a moan sounds from my lips. My legs start to buckle as his thumb finds my clit. Circling his wrist with my hand, I set the pace and ride his fingers until he pulls them out of me and spins me in his arms. My palms move to his chest and I push him down on the bed.
“Quit playing me, Blackie,” I warn, climbing on top of him. Fitting my pussy to the outline of his cock, I rub myself against him and meet his hooded gaze.
“Yeah, I definitely like it when you’re all worked up,” he grunts, lifting his hips. I close my eyes as I rock my pussy over his cock. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic band of his pants and I lift myself as he pushes them down. Freeing his cock, he lets the pants pool around his thighs, and I take his shaft in my hand, closing my fist around the thickness. My thumb grazes the head, swiping a bead of come away from the tip.