Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) (12 page)

* * * *

Greg put the last of the laundry away with the exception of Lacey’s clothes. He knew, without trying the knob, that she had locked the door against him. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, if it was to keep him out or herself in. He laid the folded clothing on the little table that sat against the wall between the two bedroom doors and stared at the barrier Lacey had set between them. His alpha twitched at the challenge, but he pushed it down along with his libido and took himself off to the shower. The handheld nozzle tried his patience, as did the billowing shower curtains that wouldn’t stay against the edges of the heavy claw-footed tub, but instead clung to him, impeding any actual real use of the soap that smelled like Lacey. His cock swelled and filled at the scent, and Greg stood there, showerhead in one hand, his little man in the other, all wrapped in fabric and steam. He snarled at the sensations, released his cock, and wrenched the water off, cursing at the sudden burst of cold until the pressure fully dropped. Greg was feeling pushed to the limits of his patience, but this hell was a result of his own making, and he was simply going to have to find additional reserves of control. Lacey was not going to outlast him and push him away.

Greg dried off and carefully folded and hung the towel in alignment with Lacey’s on the one and only towel bar. The little act comforted him and he walked out of the bathroom, naked, to the couch. It was indeed long enough and wide enough and surprisingly comfortable. He dragged the little soft throw over him that Lacey had huddled under while she watched television earlier, and chose to take heart in the thought that maybe she had left it for just that purpose. It, too, smelled like her, and he stroked his cock to assuage it.

The sound of water running again pulled him from a deep sleep, and he stretched, pleasantly surprised that he felt rested and that nothing hurt or was stiff, except for his cock which hadn’t softened an iota. He swung his feet to the floor, the old boards creaking under his weight, the ancient nap of the area rug warding off any chill, not that the room was cold. He padded into the bathroom and used the toilet, very aware of Lacey shrouded in the same curtain that had tried to smother him the previous evening. He flushed, and she shrieked.

“Shit! What the…”

Greg yanked the curtain back and pulled her out of the tub in one fluid movement, her dripping form slipping and sliding against his chest. She struggled and flailed for a moment and then froze, her hair escaping from its knot on the crown of her head to frame her face and flow over her shoulders. Water dripped from the tip of her nose and her eyelashes spiked with the moisture. The erection Greg had just mastered rose again like Old Faithful, and his heart thundered in his chest. He fought down the urge to kiss her and gently set her on her feet, her beaded nipples dragging like little erasers over his skin.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry. I forgot about the eccentric plumbing in these old places.”

Lacey backed away from him until she came up against the tub. The water pounded into it, and the spray hissed and splattered on the curtain and dripped onto the floor. He reached past her to turn it off. They faced one another for what felt like forever before Lacey replied.

“I’m fine. It was just a surprise when the pressure and temperature changed. Why would you come in here while I was showering anyhow?”

Greg was struck by just how far he had fallen. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to the bed and fuck her. He wanted to smack her ass to show her that she was wrong, that they were still destined, and that she shouldn’t have carried the bassinet, and shouldn’t lock her door against him, and a host of other things he found unacceptable. But most of all, he wanted to hold her and somehow convince her that he loved her to distraction and was going to spend the rest of his life making things up to her. He couldn’t do any of the former yet, and she wasn’t listening to the latter, so instead, he shrugged and to his immediate chagrin, was flippant. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, honey.”

Lacey’s eyes narrowed, and she drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much really, but she looked fairly impressive for all of that. He looked at her familiar, curvy body and the wave of desire that swept over him hollowed out his insides. Her mouth opened, and Greg braced himself for a set down, maybe a tirade, but then her shoulders slumped, and she hunched in on herself. She sidestepped him and snagged her towel, awkwardly wrapping it around her body. “Excuse me.”

Greg cursed under his breath. He blocked her path and reached out to pull her close, his feet sliding in the water on the floor. “I’m sorry, honey. I keep saying that, I know. I just can’t stand how you’re trying to keep me at a distance, so I got smart-mouthed.”

Lacey said, without looking at him, without even raising her head, “I need you to keep your distance. Please.”

Greg shook his head as he released her. “No can do. Go do whatever you need to if you’re that determined to go to work. I’ll make something to eat and be ready to take you.”

Lacey trudged away in the direction of her bedroom. Greg hated to see her despondent, but was equally determined to prevail. He had felt the hint of her passion before she replaced it with sadness, suborning it. He was done apologizing, done trying to make amends with words and explanations. Actions spoke louder, and he was a man of them. He washed up, and brushed his hair smooth, then cleaned his teeth before pulling his clothes on. He approached the kitchen with no sense of trepidation. Eggs and toast, maybe oatmeal, were surely easy enough breakfast items to prepare. He could do coffee.

* * * *

Greg handed Lacey the milk for the cold cereal he had unearthed from one of the lower cabinets. The old-fashioned kitchen lacked a fan, but he had pried the window open to let the smell of burned eggs and scorched oatmeal out. The toaster was also cursed, just like the freaking faucets in this place. Greg didn’t care for continual restaurant food, or fast food, but had survived on them and sandwiches and pity meals for the past months. It was just another reminder of how Lacey had taken care of him, taken care of
all
of his physical needs. He watched her spoon up the little oat circles and winced as her tongue slipped out to chase an errant one from her bottom lip. He missed that mouth more than her cooking, much more. He had taught her how he liked his blow jobs, and she had taken his instruction and turned it into a fine art. He took a swig of coffee and winced again, this time at the burn.

“Ready to go, honey?”

Lacey nodded and stood to gather up her dishes and carry them to the kitchen. She stacked them in the sink, and Greg sighed. He missed having a dishwasher, although, come to think of it, he hadn’t really been much help to her there either. There were so many things he had taken for granted. He followed her example with his own dishes and stowed the milk in the fridge before grabbing his keys, and then followed her out the door. She made her way down the stairs with no sign of difficulty, and Greg thought that maybe she had made the right decision to return to work. If she really felt up to it, and Gladys would be his eyes and ears in the office, Lacey might just heal quicker with routine and a sense of accomplishing something. He just wished he had a greater sense of the same, but the little tableau in the bathroom had given him a bit more hope. He would drop her off and head home to grab some clothes and a few other items he might need, before checking in at the station. He wasn’t planning to go back to work yet, but felt the desire for a chat with a couple of his colleagues, and then he wanted to pick up a few groceries. Maybe there would be some cooking instructions or a cookbook available at the supermarket, too.

The drive to Lacey’s work was a somewhat reminiscent of better times, if a bit silent. Greg used to drive his woman to her job whenever he could, picking up coffee on the way, talking about their plans for the evening, and kissing her soundly before letting her exit the vehicle. He pulled into the loading zone outside of her office and jumped out to go around and help Lacey out. She was out of the truck and halfway up the steps before he got there, robbing him of the anticipated kiss good-bye, and he wanted to chase her down. Instead, he called after her, reminding her that he would pick her up for lunch. He was acknowledged with a casual wave and treated to the sight of her perky little butt vanishing inside. He sighed. This was about re-establishing trust and rebuilding a relationship, but he wished Lacey would at least meet him halfway. She was being so stubborn. He climbed back into the truck and pulled out into traffic, heading for his house.

* * * *

“Hey, Gladys!”

Gladys looked up from her desk and said, “So you really meant it, Lacey! How are you? Should you be here? Does your young man approve?”

Lacey kept her smile somehow, although it felt like it might just crack and fall right off her face. Goddamn Greg. She gritted her teeth and said, “I’m fine, really. I don’t know if I’ll make it through the day, but it’s good to be back into the routine.”

Judging from the look on her face, Gladys realized she had pushed a button by mentioning Greg. “I’m sorry, honey. I know that you want to be independent.”

Lacey moved past Gladys to the door of her little office and blanched at the piles of paper in her inbox. “Oh my God! And it’s not even tax time! It’s a good thing I’m back, even for a few hours. I’d better get started.”

She powered up her computer and began to sort through her emails and then turned her attention to a full voice mailbox. The familiar routine and predicable forms and numbers soon had her engrossed, and she worked steadily until Gladys brought her coffee around ten. She accompanied her back to the reception area and they took their break while chatting desultorily about the upcoming tax season and how crazy things would get. Gladys didn’t mention Greg or the baby, and Lacey kept the conversation on the future without mentioning them either. Lacey drank down the dregs and willingly handed over her cup for Gladys to wash before heading back into her office. The pile had markedly diminished, and that gave her a sense of satisfaction, but she was getting tired. She worked for another hour before calling it quits.

“I’m finished for the day, Gladys,” she announced. “I was a bit optimistic, but I’ll be back in tomorrow. There’s no point in staying and having to double-check everything tomorrow.”

Gladys nodded. “Mr. Forsythe didn’t expect you in for a week anyhow, so this was a bonus, Lacey. He thinks you’re having woman troubles so your privacy holds, by the way.”

Lacey literally felt the blood drain from her face and her skin tighten across her cheekbones, but she made the corners of her lips turn up and nodded back. “That’s fine then. You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Gladys.”

Shit. Her car was at home, Gladys having pressed another colleague into driving it there after she’d gone to the hospital. And Greg planned to pick her up at noon. Well, that was too bad. She would take a cab home rather than bother him. She didn’t want to get into the habit of relying on him ever again. Lacey pretended that not letting him know, of sparing him the effort of coming to get her, wasn’t rude and thoughtless, because she wasn’t up for an argument with him.

“A cab? Won’t your young man pick you up?” Gladys looked shocked and confused.

Lacey quickly said, “I don’t want to bother him, Gladys. He’s busy, and by the time he gets here, I could be home and resting. Really.”

“Well, let me call you one then.”

“Thanks. I’ll just stop by the restroom on my way out. See you tomorrow.”

Lacey chose a different stall, but the bathroom still triggered the memory she had been suppressing all morning. She hurried to use the facilities and then quickly scrubbed her hands, avoiding looking in the mirror as she did so. It was going to suck if everything kept reminding her of her loss, but life wasn’t fair, so she was going to have to manage. She stepped out onto the steps to take some deep breaths of fresh air when the cab pulled up. She trudged down to it, holding the railing tightly and climbed inside, giving the driver her address and simultaneously reaching for some tissues in her purse. She had to talk to someone about how she was continually feeling so out of control, in so much pain, but didn’t know who to turn to. Her fingers touched a piece of stiff vellum, and she pulled out the business card Greg had tucked into her bag the day she had been discharged. She remembered him mentioning a female therapist.

She ran her fingers over the raised black printing on the beige card.
Dr. Meredith Massey—grief & loss, relationship & couple therapy.
Lacey saw that this Dr. Massey had an office at the hospital on Fridays, and one not far from where she worked during the rest of the week. On impulse, she asked the driver to take her to a new address. Within minutes, he pulled up in front of an old Victorian home, similar to the one Lacey lived in now, except it was surrounded by more modern, office-style buildings. It spoke to Lacey, isolated and alone in its surroundings, but staunch and strong, a testament to times gone by. She paid the driver and got out to slowly mount the steps, her previous tiredness returning in spades. Dr. Massey’s name was stenciled directly above the old-fashioned bell press, and Lacey raised her hand, pointing her finger tentatively in that direction. The door abruptly swung inward, and she grabbed at the handrail to stop her backward movement. A young blonde woman emerged, tall and slender, her eyes downcast. She slanted a glance at Lacey and gave her a tiny smile and a nod and then dashed down the steps. She merged into the pedestrian traffic like a puff of smoke, and Lacey turned, squaring her shoulders, to push through the door that had yet to swing closed. It felt like a now-or-never moment.

A long hallway with a carpet runner centered exactly on the plank floor led her toward a murmur of feminine voices. She hesitated in the doorway of what appeared to be a reception room. Two women, one sitting at a small desk, the other standing directly behind her and bending to look over the seated one’s shoulder were looking at a book on the wooden surface. Lacey cleared her throat and they both looked up at her, clearly startled.