She laughed again, only to begin another fit. This was how all our conversations went. She’d start coughing and I’d feel guilty for keeping her on the phone. “Vi… I gotta go jump in the shower. It’s late, and I need my beauty sleep.”
“I don’t think it’s gonna help, Damien. But give it a shot.” Her words held no malice, and I smiled.
“Love you, Vi.”
“Love you, too.”
She ended the call and I let my arm fall next to me. I stared up at the dark ceiling as the muted sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.
No one would know by looking at me, but I was a hurricane of mixed emotions. I worried about my sister more than anything. Her and the kids, and what would happen if we lost her. But on the other side of that coin, I had enjoyed being with Cadence tonight. Our back-and-forth banter and the way she was both sexy as fuck with an air of naiveté, had me hard all over again.
Which seemed to happen to me a lot when Cadence was around.
The two halves of me were pulling at each other, fighting for dominance.
Having fun and living my life felt like a betrayal to my sister. Besides, I wouldn’t see Cadence for a while. This tour was ending, and I didn’t know when we’d be back in South Carolina.
But none of that really mattered. I had no romantic interest in her or any other woman. I’d learned my lesson about how manipulative women could be, and I wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
She had her boyfriend, anyway.
Still, as I pulled my shirt over my head, I swore her scent clung to the fabric. Faintly, but it was there. Apples. I let myself fantasize for a moment about what it would be like for her to be mine. To run my tongue along every part of her delicate skin. Hear her moan my name over and over. Make her laugh while I held her when the world tried to tear her down. To protect her.
To be with someone again, both in body and spirit.
But that’s all it was, just a fantasy.
She’d never be mine.
Chapter Seven
Cadence
My eyes opened as I reached into the bed next to me searching for Elijah. Disappointment settled over me when I felt nothing but cold, empty sheets. I hadn’t even heard him get up.
When I’d come home last night, not only was he already there, but he’d been asleep, too. I’d been left with that nagging voice in the back of my head. The one that told me, since he never reached out to check on me after coming home to an empty house, he didn’t actually care about me.
I stretched, pointing my toes and lifting my fingers over my head as the fabric of my silky night shirt rode up my midriff.
As the sun shined in, signaling another warm sunny day, my eyes wandered across our bedroom.
I’d picked out everything in this room. The pictures on the wall, the decor scattered around, my reading chair in the corner, our bed set. It was all to my taste and preference. There were no hints of Elijah anywhere besides his clothes in the closet and dresser, which was laughable because we’d livedtogether since we moved here after college almost four years ago.
The thought unsettled me. Didn’t that bother him? Was the home we shared such a minor blip on his radar that it didn’t matter what surrounded him?
I pulled the black and gray floral comforter off my body and stood. I grabbed my cell phone off the book that sat on my nightstand, and the fluffy white robe that I kept slung across my reading chair.
I wrapped the soft, warm fabric around me. Coffee. Coffee was the number one priority, and then I’d search for Elijah.
Normally, we spent our Saturdays out running errands and preparing for the week ahead. We’d hit the grocery store and stop in any other miscellaneous places along the way.
Which meant we reserved Sundays for relaxation. I’d curl up with a good book while Elijah found something to tinker with around the house and watch whatever professional sport was on.
We lived in a two-story home in a quiet neighborhood on John’s Island. Most people imagined all the houses in Charleston were colonial masterpieces. Our community was one of the newer ones filled with American Craftsman homes. Those old colonials down on Market St. were worth millions.
Not that Elijah’s family hadn’t offered to buy us one so we could be close to them. His parents lived in a beautiful home downtown that cost more than I’d probably make in a lifetime, but I was not about to spend that kind of money on a house, even if it wasn’t my money. Elijah and I had fought about finding a home within our budget for weeks. But I had nothing to prove, and I wanted it to be mine.
I found Elijah downstairs, staring intensely at his computer on the black granite island.
