“And on other days?” Karen asked.
Rocky focused on her direct gaze once more. “I realize it will never be enough.” He sighed. “I blame that on my Catholic upbringing. Where most people need food and water to live, we can sustain ourselves on guilt alone.”
Karen chuckled. “Are you still a practicing Catholic?”
Rocky shook his head. “It doesn’t prevent me from feeling like I’m permanently stuck in purgatory.” He picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “Do you really think you can help me?”
“I know I can,” Karen replied.
They continued talking until his time was up. Rocky walked to the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “See you next week, Karen.”
“Try to be on time.”
Rocky nodded, then opened the door.
“Hey, Rocky,” Karen called out.
He stopped and faced her. “Yeah.”
“You’ll do in a pinch.”
Rocky laughed as he rubbed a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”
He’d heard therapy was supposed to make you feel better, but he felt as drained as a battery from an overused dildo when he left Karen’s office.
Rocky drove home on autopilot but got a little burst of energy when he turned on to his street and his house came into view. He absolutely adored the white bungalow he’d purchased from his grandmother when she moved into her retirement community. The exterior was quaint and cute with its bold, red front door, navy blue shutters, and a trellis archway over the porch. His nana had planted colorful flowers in the window boxes and the blossoming vines that climbed up the intricate latticework on both sides of the entrance. Rocky had no idea what any of them were called, but he watered them faithfully to keep them looking nice.
The home had been his safe place when he was a lonely kid, then a confused teenager, and especially when he was a brokenhearted mess of a man seeking refuge after leaving Vegas. The bungalow represented so much more than four walls and a roof over his head; it was love.
Which was why Rocky was kicking himself in the ass for saying yes to Asher coming over. He would disrupt the harmony inside the home, and his husband’s presence would linger long after he left. Rocky wasn’t interested in starring in a Dickens novel. He didn’t need the ghosts of Asher past and present to disturb his nonexistent sleep any more than they already had, dragging him to memories he didn’t want to relive. He didn’t want to think about Asher’s future without him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see Asher fall in love with someone who wasn’t him. Fuck no. Just the idea of it had him pacing the floor. And how fucking stupid was that? He was the one who’d left Asher and filed for a divorce. What right did he have to deny Asher the happiness he deserved?
None. Fucking none at all. But it hurt so damn much. Rocky would be furious if he didn’t deserve the punishment. He jerked to a stop in the middle of his living room.
Was that why Asher was here? To torment Rocky and get even? And what was this favor that couldn’t be asked via text or phone? He shoved his hands into his hair, gripping his skull and willing his brain to settle down. Each thought made it harder to breathe until he felt like his chest was caving beneath the pressure. His heart galloped like a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby until he felt lightheaded. Rocky closed his eyes and cycled through the meditation exercise Karen had taught him. After a few minutes, the weight on his chest eased, and his heart settled to a leisurely trot. He’d almost returned to Calmville when a knock sounded at the front door.
Shit! Rocky looked around the living room to assess its condition, then laughed at his ridiculousness. He’d been the meticulous one in their relationship while Asher had been the slob. Rocky hadn’t changed and was willing to gamble Asher hadn’t either. With nothing to tidy up to delay the inevitable, Rocky crossed the room and opened the door. A beautiful queen stood on his front porch. Miss Marla had her beloved Betty, a black-and-white French bulldog, tucked beneath her right arm and carried an aluminum tray in her left hand. The sight of her never failed to boost his mood.
“Well, hello there. You look stunning,” Rocky said.
“I know.” Marla set Betty down and handed the pan to Rocky. Betty darted past Rocky’s legs on her way to the rear of the house. The little dog loved his backyard, and he knew she’d be waiting patiently for Rocky to let her out to enjoy it. Marla slowly turned in a circle, giving him the three-sixty view. The skirt of her white and black polka dot ’50s style halter dress twirled around her knees. “Hello, Pretty Boy,” she said, angling her head and offering her cheek.
Rocky kissed her warm skin, then lowered his head to breathe in the delicious aroma escaping the foil covering. “Smells like butter and cinnamon.”
“There’s the private dick we all know and love. Can’t fool you for a second. Cinnamon rolls for my cinnamon roll.”
Rocky snorted. He wasn’t sure that kind and sweet were terms many people would ascribe to him, but he was happy Marla thought so. Rocky fought the urge to pull the foil back and shove his face into the pan. He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Do I need a reason to do something nice for my boo?” Marla batted her eyelashes and attempted an innocent smile. Attempted was the keyword.
Rocky wasn’t fooled for a second. Marla was the one who’d referred him to Karen. If she made a habit of turning up after his appointments to soothe him with baked goods, he’d gain thirty pounds before he even worked up the courage to delve deeper into the source of his pain.
“You have an ulterior motive for everything you do,” Rocky teased.
“Taking care of my boys gives me a purpose. And you’re very welcome.”
“Thank you,” he said, kissing her cheek once more. “It has nothing to do with you hoping to learn what was discussed at therapy?”
Marla gasped and literally clutched her pearls. “Are you implying I’m nosy?”
“Does the douche nozzle fit?” Rocky quipped.
Marla’s mouth hung open for so long Rocky worried he’d actually offended her. Then her head fell back, and she laughed so hard she needed to lean against the doorframe for support. After a moment, Marla composed herself and said, “I may resemble that.”
Rocky quirked a brow. “A nosy queen or a douche nozzle?”
Marla swatted his arm. “You can tell Mama about your troubles,” she said silkily.
Rocky nodded. “I could.”
“You could also offer a lady a drink and someplace to sit.” Marla craned her neck to look down the hallway. “Unless you’re trying to hide something…or someone.”
“Nope.”
He suspected Marla knew about Asher, even though she’d never mentioned it directly. Jonah wouldn’t divulge his secret, but Felix sure as fuck would and most likely had. Fucking Felix. Betty came to the rescue by running back into the living room and letting out a series of short barks. Marla turned to look at her beloved dog. “What is it, Miss Thing?”
Betty responded with two more barks.
“Outside?” Rocky asked. Energy radiated through Betty’s wiggling body as she spun around in a circle. “Why don’t we go out back so Betty can play in the yard while we drink lemonade and get caught up.”