“Hang tight. I got you.”
After disconnecting the call, I pull up my speech-to-text app and order ten boxes of tampons and ten pounds' worth of chocolate to be delivered to my house within the next thirty minutes. I figure that should be enough to hold her over for a while.
It’s nice to actually be able to solve a problem for a goddamn change.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” the waitress asks.
Yeah. My wife.
Because I really fucking miss her.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find Lennon dressed in something other than sweatpants and standing in the kitchen when I get home.
Maybe Mrs. Palma was right, and giving her some space was what she needed.
“Hey.”
My smile falls when I see the bottle of booze in her hand. But then I remind myself that aside from our never have I ever game in high school and the night she and Skylar got trashed, she never drinks.
Hell, she could probably use one.
Bridging the space between us, she folds her arms around my neck and kisses me.
It’s like a shot of epinephrine to the heart. Immediately, my arms find her waist and my tongue parts her lips.
Judging by the alcohol on her breath and the overpowering taste I get of it, she’s had more than one drink.
Giggling, her fingers go to the zipper on my jeans. “Want to have some fun?”
My dick says fuck yes, but my mind says pump the brakes because she’s slurring her words.
“You’re drunk.”
“Drunk and horny.”
Then she drops to her knees.
“Lenn—”
Fuck. And now my cock is in her mouth.
Groaning, I grip the counter, my mind and body on two vastly different trains. I crave her, but something about this feels fucking wrong.
Not for my cock, though, because he’s rock hard and having a great time.
But if Lennon was sober right now, she wouldn’t be sucking me off.
She’d be upstairs in bed crying.
Christ. Sometimes doing the honorable thing really fucking sucks—or in my case doesn’t suck—because I stop her.
“You can blow me when you’re not trashed.”
“You don’t...” She sways—a little too much—because she falls back on her ass and her head hits the oven. “You don’t want me?”
I gesture to my dick. “Does it look like I don’t want you?”
She reaches for me again, but I stop her. “You’re drunk.” I run the pad of my thumb over her cheekbone. “Trust me, if you weren’t, I’d fuck you so good you’d beg me not to stop and so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for days.”
Her lower lip sticks out in an adorable little pout. “Baby, come on.” She shakes her head emphatically. “I’m not dru—”
And then she pukes. All over my shoes, herself, and the floor.
After tucking my cock away, I ease Lennon to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers as I lead her out of the kitchen. “I’m such a mess.”
She is.
But she’s my mess.
CHAPTER 80
LENNON
Wiping the steam from my shower off the mirror, I stare at my reflection. I look different and it’s not because of the ten pounds I lost…it’s because I feel different.
Empty.
There’s a void inside me again, only this time nothing can fill it.
Skylar said it won’t always hurt this much. Mrs. Palma told me it will get better with time.
They’re wrong.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to live in a world without my dad. I don’t know how I’m supposed to ever laugh or smile again, knowing I’ll never see him laugh or smile again.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over this and move on.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I try to inhale past the crushing agony in the center of my chest, but I can’t.
This pain has taken me hostage—drowning me in a sea of misery—and I can’t seem to escape from its clutches.
Two nights ago, I got drunk. I thought it would numb me and I’d get a reprieve, but it didn’t happen.
The only thing it made me do was force myself on my husband and throw up.
My husband.
I should be ecstatic that my wildest fantasies came true and I’m married to Phoenix Walker.
But I’m not…because I’m too busy grieving the first man I ever loved.
I find Phoenix curled up on the bed sleeping when I walk into my bedroom. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s just after two a.m.
Evidently grief makes you lose all concept of time.
I don’t even know what day of the week it is.
I’m a mess. And the Lennon BDD—before Dad’s death—would be positively mortified.
I’m too sad to care, though. About myself. About anything.
The broken thing in my chest squeezes, reminding me that’s not true because there’s still one thing I care about.
Him.
Phoenix doesn’t deserve this, though.
I know he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, but it won’t be a happy one. Because ten seconds after I became his wife, I turned into a different person. One he’s stuck with.
It’s not fair to him.
But the harder I try to push him away, the harder he holds on.
Despite me hating him at his worst…he loves me at mine.
Opening my dresser drawer, I pull out a pair of pajamas and get dressed.
I might be a ghost, but one with a heart that still beats for him. He hides it well, but not being able to sing or perform has to be eating him alive.
I know exactly what it’s like to lose that thing that makes your soul come alive—the thing that heals you—and even though he took it away from me, I don’t want to do the same to him.
Problem is, I have no idea where his career stands or what’s been going on in public or behind the scenes.
Chandler—that no-good rotten bastard—told me I needed to do an interview and tell the world he didn’t steal my song. It’s something I would have agreed to do at some point—once I felt like I was no longer drowning—if only he stopped there.
But no, the asshole kept talking.
He told me that just because my father was dead, it wasn’t an excuse to kill everyone else’s career. That even Yoko still wanted John to make music. That I should want to do this interview because Phoenix and I don’t have a prenup and it meant I’d get more money when we inevitably divorced within the next year.
But I don’t want Phoenix’s money. I just want him to keep shining.
Grabbing my cell, I pad downstairs into the living room. Not only is Skylar my friend, she’s his publicist.
I wasn’t up for talking much the other day—aside from asking her to find me a lawyer—but I know she’ll tell me the truth about what’s been going on with Phoenix from a public relations standpoint.
Then I’ll know how bad the damage is and can figure out a way to fix it.
Fortunately, California is three hours ahead, so even though it’s late, she’ll still be awake.
She answers after the third ring. “Hey.”