My release hits me like a freight train, and I howl, the sound ragged as it echoes off the tiles. I come so hard my knees nearly buckle, and I slide to the floor after my seed washes down the drain.
It’s so intense and I’m so godsdamned happy, I feel lightheaded. Drunk on lust and possibility. A giddy laugh bursts out of me, one that goes on and on until I can’t breathe. I must look crazy, howling at the moon and laughing like a hyena.
When I can breathe again, I clean up and drag myself to bed. The sheets smell faintly of Julia from the last time she stayed here. I bury my face in the pillow and finally, finally fall asleep.
The phone wakes me at nine the next morning. It’s Julia, and my heart leaps before I even answer.
“Hey, pretty girl. How’d you sleep?”
A sniffle comes through the line, and my stomach drops.
“Julia? What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the grocery store.” Her voice is thick with tears. “I was trying to restock Heidi and Nicole’s pantry as a thank-you for letting me stay, and my credit card got declined. All of them. My debit card too. The store took them and won’t give them back. I think Richard reported them stolen.”
Red-hot fury floods my veins. That vindictive piece of shit. He couldn’t stand to let her leave with any dignity at all. Well, the mother of my children is not going to stand in a grocery store in tears because her asshole soon-to-be-ex-husband decided to be petty. I take a breath, reining in my anger.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you.” I force my voice to stay calm even though I want to punch something. She’s still crying and apologizing, and I want to reach through the phone and hold her. “Sweetheart, put the cashier on the phone.”
There’s a shuffling sound, and then a new voice comes on the line. “Hello?”
“Hi there. I’m going to give you my credit card number to pay for whatever the lady has in her cart.”
I rattle off the digits, wait for the authorization, and thank the cashier before asking to be passed back to Julia.
“It’s taken care of,” I tell her. “You okay?”
“I’ll pay you back. I don’t know when, but I will, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just go home, put away the groceries, and have some tea or something so you can relax before work. I’ll check on you this evening after your shift.”
“I’m so sorry I had to call you,” she sniffles.
“Don’t you dare be sorry. You did exactly the right thing, okay? Always call me. Always, Julia. Promise me.”
After I extract her promise and her groceries are bagged, we hang up, and I throw my phone across the room. It bounces off the sofa cushion, which is lucky for me, because I’m not in control of my strength right now.
I pace the living room like it’s a cage, my tail lashing. Apparently, Richard is going to make her life hell. He has the money and the connections to do it, and she has nothing. No job that pays enough to live on. No family in the country. No resources except what her friends can spare.
And me. Everything I have is hers, too.
The thought crystallizes into determination. I can’t murder Richard, not if I want to stay out of jail and see my pups grow up. And I can’t fix her whole life. But I can make sure she has a safe place to land, whenever she’s ready.
I spend the rest of the day preparing her room. Not the guest room, but the master bedroom. I wash the sheets and fluff the pillows. I clear out the closet and empty the dresser drawers. I stock the bathroom with girly stuff and the kitchen with dairy-free snacks and the prenatal vitamins Helena recommended.
I’m not trying to pressure her. I just want her to know that this is her space. She belongs here in the home I built for our family. If she wants me inherbed, I’ll be there, but it’s her house now.
By evening, I’m exhausted but satisfied. The room looks good. It’s ready for her. When I talk to her later, I’ll try to work it into the conversation in a low-pressure way.
But before I can text her, my phone rings. The number is unfamiliar, but it’s a local landline, so I answer.
“Ian?” Julia’s voice is stretched thin. “It’s me.”
Dread coils in my gut. “What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m at the bookstore still. My car got repossessed from the parking lot while I was working. And my phone was shut off. I tried to call you, but it wouldn’t go through.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Richard’s really pulling out all the stops, isn’t he?”
I’m already grabbing my keys. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
