Creed

Chapter Seventeen It Always Would Be

Present day…

I was one of those people who, when I was wrong, I’d admit I was wrong.

Right then, floating on an inner tube on the lazy river at Wet ‘n’ Wild in Phoenix, Arizona after having a squirt gun fight with Creed, Brand and Kara, which was after we went down copious water slides including one the kids called “the toilet bowl” which had this kickass swirly thing going on which was after we had lunch which was after we horsed around in the wave pool… I was loving Phoenix.

I was getting a tan.

I had my man back.

And he was right, he had great kids.

But, meeting Kara and Brand, the surprises kept coming.

First was the fact that I expected them to look exactly like Creed. In my mind, badass genes would beat out pretty much everything.

They didn’t look exactly like Creed. Apparently, badass genes knew enough to bow to traits that would create a superior being.

In other words, his kids were gorgeous.

Kara had thick, gleaming, long, straight brunette hair and a twelve year old girl’s slim, tall, almost boyish body. She had perfect, dark arched brows and the features of her face, which were still girlish but would clearly mature into great beauty, bore absolutely no resemblance to Creed’s. They might be Chelle’s, they might just be Kara’s and from Brand’s looks, I couldn’t tell.

Brand also had thick dark hair and, although ten years old, he was tall and had his father’s exact build. His features didn’t resemble his father or his sister so they, too, were either from his mother or all Brand.

Luckily for them, both kids inherited Creed’s unusual bright blue eyes and, with their dark hair and tanned skin which said they weren’t adverse to the heat like I was, their eyes were startlingly beautiful. Even more so than Creed’s which, until I saw them, I would have said was impossible.

Another surprise was Creed’s brand of parenting.

Neither of us grew up with good role models and when Creed wanted to spring me on his children with very little warning, I thought he was the cool, laidback Dad. Maybe, I had to admit, too cool and laidback.

He was not.

I’d forgotten that Creed’s Dad died when Creed was ten so there was plenty of time for the first Brand Creed to make his mark on his son. Although I’d never met Creed’s Dad, it was clear to see his father had done just that.

Creed wasn’t exactly strict but he definitely wasn’t Weekend Daddy who spoiled his kids when he had them and let shit slide. I noted this when he didn’t give in when Kara strode into the park and immediately wanted to go shopping in the gift shop. He also didn’t give in when Brand wanted to order enough food at lunch to feed an Army. Creed wasn’t a jerk about it, his refusals were quiet and gentle. They were also firm and his kids minded him immediately, clearly because they were the norm.

Further, they packed their own bags and carried them to the car and they did this without Creed telling them to. They were polite and when Kara forgot to say thank you to the waitress for bringing our drinks, Creed gave her a subdued but meaningful Dad Look which prompted a quick remedy to her lapse in courtesy. And when a squabble seemed to be beginning to break out in the backseat on our way to the park, all he had to say was a quiet, low, “Stop… now,” and the burgeoning squabble ended immediately. The mood in the backseat didn’t turn jovial but they stopped bickering.

Creed, whose language was as foul as mine, also didn’t cuss around his kids. Also, although he held my hand on more than one occasion, obviously (and thankfully) his message was plain that public displays of affection were to be kept at an appropriate minimum.

I didn’t expect Creed to be a bad Dad. He made it clear he loved his children and they were a huge, important part of his life and any Dad who felt that way couldn’t be all bad.

I also didn’t expect him to be a Dad, showing love and care at the same time guiding with a firm hand.

I had to say, I liked it.

But truthfully, I thought Creed was thinking positively, even hopefully (but not rationally) about what he expected their reaction would be to me.

I was wrong about this, too.

From the instant I met him at Creed’s house, Brand was exactly as Creed described him. Open and friendly but also talkative. Very talkative. The kid had a lot to say but fortunately it was interesting and a lot of the time damned funny.

Kara was the same except, from the very little I knew of her, not rabid about it. It seemed genuine albeit watchful.

And it was clear they both adored their Dad though this was not a surprise.

The only thing that made me pause was Kara’s adoration of her father was what could be described as rabid. It shone from her eyes, was reflected in her features. She loved him and she clearly missed him being away and not away as in, a job in Denver but away as in, not seeing him every day. She was not a spoiled Daddy’s Little Princess but there was something there that was off, just not right and part of that was that it seemed Creed didn’t see it. Or perhaps he was acting normal in the hopes that would help her work through it.

Regardless, I couldn’t ask about it, not with her around and when Creed was around, Kara was. Whereas Brand was independent, did his own thing, quickly found other kids his age he could befriend and go off and do things with, Kara stuck to her Dad like glue.

Thus me, being in the lazy river, giving Kara time with Creed without me being there.

I tipped my shade-covered eyes up to the sun and figured it was heading to late afternoon. I didn’t know exactly but I reckoned I’d been on the lazy river for a good long while. During lunch, Creed had pulled a fast one, suggesting he make his dandan noodles for the four of us for dinner when we got home. I was supposed to go to the hotel after the water park but Creed made his “suggestion” in such a way I couldn’t protest. It was sly at the same time it was sweet since he didn’t want me to leave him and he wanted me to spend more time with his kids.

That said, I figured a day at Wet ‘n’ Wild with me around was enough for one weekend.

Creed obviously disagreed.

Clearly, Creed’s dandan noodles were a treat and the kids would put up with anything, even their dad’s “new” girlfriend eating noodles with them seeing as they agreed enthusiastically. I didn’t know what dandan noodles entailed but I did know it entailed a trip to the grocery store. So I also figured my time was up in the lazy river and I should haul my ass out and find Creed and his kids.

As I floated around a bend, I’d discover I wouldn’t have to find him since he was standing where you entered and exited the gently flowing water. His arms were crossed on his chest. His hair was wet but curling around his neck as it dried. And his blue boardshorts with white stitching and blue flip-flops were the only things hiding his beautiful, tall, broad-shouldered, sculpted, tanned, badass body.

Incidentally, they were doing a poor job of it since the waistband of the shorts fit snug and low along his flat, defined abs and waist and his cut hipbones leading into the shorts would make pretty much anyone who had a vagina wonder what they led to. Luckily, it was only me and my vagina who would know the details.

Taking in all that was him, I felt shivers in four places that were so strong, they defied even the Phoenix heat.

His shaded eyes caught mine, his face behind his sunglasses was impassive and I watched as his hand came up, his finger pointing at me then it turned and he crooked it. Once.

More shivers and my nipples got hard.

I stared at him as I drifted toward him thinking two things.

First, no man since Richard Scott would ever get away with crooking his finger at me and Richard only got away with it because he was a dick who beat me repeatedly. Since him, I’d break a crooked finger before I obeyed such a bossy, arrogant, wordless command.

Not Creed. Oh no. It made me near desperate to jump him.

The second thing was, top to toe, all of him and the all there was of him that every female from sixteen to sixty in the vicinity was staring at and wanted for their own, was all mine.

Not only that, it always was and always would be.

At that, I didn’t feel a shiver. I felt a warmth that wasn’t coming from the Phoenix sun but my own personal one, directed straight at me from behind Creed’s shades.

I was closing in, preparing to exit my inner tube when Kara in her cute, girl’s bikini sidled up to her Dad’s side. The warmth I felt increased when Creed’s shades unlocked from mine, he looked down at his girl, his mouth curved into a gentle smile and his arm naturally slid around her shoulders.

Yeah, he was a good Dad. He loved his girl. He loved his kids.

I got out of the water, his shades came back to me and my lungs hollowed out when I saw the gentle grin still playing at his mouth, his rugged, scarred face was relaxed and contentment was stamped on his features.

He also loved me.

And he was happy.

Tucker Creed hadn’t had a day like today, not ever, not in his life, not even way back when, when it was just him and me.

And this made him happy.

So dandan noodles it was and I wasn’t even going to give him any stick for pulling a fast one.

I moved to him and Kara, smiling back, trying to ignore the wet but still hot pool deck burning the bottoms of my feet, wondering where I left my flip-flops as I came to a halt in front of them.

His deep, smooth voice with its hint of rough came right at me.

“Time to go home.”

Home.

I’d never had that, not ever, not in my life, not even way back when, when it was just Creed and me.

My smile got bigger.

“And they were all, ‘It’s too hot,’ and I was all, ‘Wusses, it’s not too hot. There’s a breeze. This is a walk in the park to me. I could run in this heat. I could sleep in this heat.’”

Brand and I were sitting at Creed’s island with Brand talking a mile a minute while Kara and Creed were making what they told me was called a “pizzookie”. The pizzookie, as described, was a phenomenon whose existence I was shocked I’d not only never heard of before but also had never partaken of, copiously. Apparently, you took store bought cookie dough, sprayed a cake tin, scrunched a bunch of dough in the bottom, baked it until it was just cooked but mostly gooey, plopped a shitload of ice cream on top and ate it out of the pan. If you were feeling saucy, Kara further explained, you could do this with brownie dough.

See?

A phenomenon. Delicious and genius. If it was as good as it sounded, I could make and consume one every night.

I couldn’t wait.

Dandan noodles were a hit. Eating them, I found that I’d had them before at restaurants but I would never consider making them at home. Then again, Creed had always been good in the kitchen. He’d learned to cook out of necessity because his Mom didn’t and he’d always had a knack for it.

I’d learned to cook at the crack of Richard’s whip and thus I avoided it. I could cook and do it well; I just hated doing it because time spent in the kitchen reminded me of Richard. And that was never good.

Grocery shopping with the Creeds before the noodles was a stitch. This was partly because Brand was riding a water park high and sweeping us along with his wave, being a total goof and cracking jokes that were so bad, they were hysterical.

But it was Creed who had us doubled over in an aisle when he inexplicably started roaring with laughter so uncontrolled he couldn’t even speak. He just pointed at a display of DVDs in the center of the aisle that had a label that said “Family Friendly Movies” but were a variety of documentaries on natural disasters and serial killers. Obviously, we all saw the humor and joined in. It took us ten minutes to pull our shit together and move on considering the fact both Brand and Kara kept making suggestions about family friendly movies that should be added such as an in-depth perusal into the Third Reich (Kara’s idea and she even used the words “in-depth perusal”) and the Spanish Inquisition (Brand’s idea).

When we got back to the house, I found it was cool being in Creed’s house with his kids. Even being there only weekends, they were comfortable and there was a kickass family vibe that not only was awesome to see Creed had but was awesome to feel.

I wasn’t a part of it, it was way too early, but both kids included me and it felt more than a little nice.

Once we dumped our stuff, got in showers and changed, the division of labor fell naturally. Kara helped her Dad in the kitchen in a way so practiced I knew it was the norm while Brand entertained me.

We’d had the noodles and were onto dessert and Brand was regaling me with stories of how his cousins (Chelle had a brother and a sister, both with kids) who came from Maine for vacation that summer couldn’t get on in the heat. Something Brand thought made them wusses and something, as a native Phoenician, he was proud he could do, no sweat (literally).

“Son, they’re not wusses,” Creed broke in as Kara pulled the pizzookie out of the oven and Creed tossed a hot pad across the kitchen to land on the island in front of Brand and me. “They’re just not used to it,” he finished.

“Yeah, but they complained about it, like… a lot. Like… all the time. That says wuss,” Brand disagreed.

“Can’t argue with that,” Creed muttered and I silently concurred.

Kara put the pizzookie on the hot pad, Creed opened the freezer to get out the ice cream and I stared at the pizzookie, mentally making it my first priority to hit King Soopers and buy cookie dough and ice cream when I got home.

“Totally,” Kara muttered after her father, now reaching for spoons. “It’s too hot,” she fake whined. “I feel the heat coming through my shoes.” She looked at me as she handed me a spoon and went on, “We don’t complain the ocean’s too salty when we go visit them.”

Brand snorted before he said, “The ocean’s too salty. I am so totally using that when we go back to Maine.”

“And the air’s too heavy,” Kara added.

“And the breeze is too breezy,” Brand put in on a boy mini-giggle.

“How about the Creeds don’t bellyache or even pretend to be wusses but suck it up like true Creeds?” Creed suggested, turning away from the fridge.

Kara grinned at her brother, handed him a spoon and all got quiet as Creed arrived with the ice cream, opened it up, scooped it out and piled it on.

I watched him do this with avid fascination.

Holy shit.

Seriously.

I was full of noodles and I still was considering taking all three of them out so I could have that shit all to myself.

Five minutes later, I would lament I didn’t make this move. This was because, with what was clearly abundant practice, the three Creeds fell on that pizzookie like chocolate chip cookie dough was being outlawed the next day. It was every man and his spoon for himself. With difficulty, spoons clinking against spoons, I got a load on mine and got it in my mouth but before I got it back to the pan, swear to God, more than half the pizzookie was gone.

Apparently, Creed gently drilling manners into his children did not include allowing the guest to have a head start on the pizzookie or even a clear go (or two).

As I was trying quickly to form a strategy to get my spoon in there, I heard Creed order with mouth full, “Don’t be shy, baby.”

I made the mistake of looking at him to see him grinning, mouth still full, then he swallowed and honed back in on the pan. By the time my eyes got back there, I estimated there were approximately five bites left.

“Can’t be shy when pizzookie is on the line,” Brand murmured his advice then shoved pizzookie in his mouth, Kara and Creed’s spoons scooped out more and I went in, got a load and hoisted it to my mouth.

By the time I went back, mouth barely having taken its first chew, it was all gone.

I’d had two bites and the entire ten inch cake pan was full when we started.

I looked around the island at the chewing, grinning Creeds, the young male version having melted chocolate and cookie crumbs on his lips.

Okay, right.

I might only have had two bites but next time, I’d do better. Definitely.

And I liked this pizzookie crazy family.

Seriously.

“What’d I say?”

This was Creed, on his back in his bed, me straddling him, his hands on my bare ass, his cock still inside me and we’d just spent several minutes, hands groping, faces nuzzling, post-orgasm.

I stopped licking his neck and lifted my head to look down at him.

After pizzookie and some Diamondbacks baseball, I’d left under enthusiastic, heartwarmingly authentic, “See you later, Sylvies,” from Kara and Brand. Then, three hours later, I came back to have sex and sleep with Creed.

Now he was asking me a question and I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“What?” I asked.

His hands slid from my ass, up my back, out over my ribs then up, up, up to frame my face. “The kids. They like you.”

“Not enough to give me a clear go at the pizzookie.”

Creed grinned.

I kept talking but quieter.

“Kids tend to like thirty-four year old women who go all out in a squirt gun fight and don’t mind looking stupid and accidentally running into the pelican that shoots water out of its mouth.”

One of his hands moved down to curl around my neck. The other one slid into my hair at the side, through it and down the back where his arm ended curling around me as he replied, “Yeah, they do. Being a big goof goes down good with kids but it was more than that, baby. They just like you.”

I hoped his latter words were true but I was stuck on his earlier words.

“I’m not a big goof. I’m a badass even with a squirt gun. I totally kicked both their asses.”

“Baby, you ran into that pelican and they nailed you,” he reminded me.

“Sure, but I recovered and rallied huge.”

His grin came back. “Yeah, and that’s when I nailed you.”

My eyes narrowed, “Creed, hot stuff, you didn’t nail me until ten minutes ago.”

His grin got bigger. “I nailed you then, too.”

I disagreed. “It was totally a tie in the squirt gun fight.”

He disagreed with me disagreeing. “I kicked your ass. You were drenched.”

“You did not, the pelican kicked my ass,” I shot back.

His body started shaking under mine as he asked, “Seriously? You’re okay with the fake pelican squirting water out of its mouth kicking your ass and you’re not okay with me doing it?”

Absolutely.

Seeing as this could go on all night, I decided to put a stop to it by announcing, “Paintball tiebreaker when we get back to Denver.”

“Beautiful, I don’t play at business unless I got swim trunks on and my kids with me.”

The breath went out of me at his calling me “beautiful”. Something he hadn’t done in sixteen years. Something I loved back then. Something I missed. Something I loved having back so much, it hurt.

“Sylvie?” he called.

I focused through the exquisite pain and saw the amusement had faded from his face and his eyes were intent on me.

I didn’t share.

I just whispered, “Then, baby, you’re missing out. Business is business and fun is fun and paintball is a freaking blast.”

He ignored me and asked, “Where were you?”

I knew what he was asking but I didn’t answer. Instead, I told him, “I’m right here, with you.”

“Five seconds ago, you were somewhere else.”

“Creed –”

His hand at my neck slid back into my hair and his arm around me gave me a squeeze while he prompted gently, “Sylvie, asked you a question.”

I pressed my lips together then slid my hands up his chest, one stopped at his neck, the other one I wrapped around his jaw and watched as my thumb traced the edge of his lower lip.

When my thumb was retracing its path, I looked into his eyes and whispered, “I missed you calling me ’beautiful’.”

“I missed havin’ you close so I could call you that,” he whispered back.

I shifted off his cock but moved down his body so I could lay my cheek on his chest and both his arms went around me.

“It’ll never stop hitting us,” I said softly.

“Don’t ’spect so,” Creed said softly back.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like winning when that sucker punch comes and we’re reminded of how much we lost,” I told him then felt, weirdly, his body shaking under mine like he was laughing.

I lifted up and looked down at him.

Yes, laughing.

“This is funny?” I asked quietly.

His hands came back to frame my face and he replied just as quietly through his waning laughter, “Baby, I hauled you into my house last night, kissed you at the door. I made love to you in my bed. I woke up to you. I spent the day with you and my kids. I watched you go down over the pizzookie. You barely got your spoon in there. And, ten minutes ago, I watched you ride my cock hard and make yourself come before you made me do the same. No way, after what they took from us, no way am I gonna let them make me feel that isn’t anything but what it is. Us winning.”

Shit, he was right.

He also wasn’t done.

“Wish I was a better man,” he said quietly. “Dad’d be pissed at me, he knew I was even thinkin’ this but, I get the chance, I’ll spit on your father’s grave, what he did to you, what he did to me. But, if I don’t get that chance,” his hands at my face pressed in and his voice dipped low, the smooth sliding clean out of it, his expression shifting to intense, “I’ll take this. I’ll take this every day and every day I’ll know in the end I beat that bastard. He might not have been alive to see it, but I beat his goddamned, motherfucking ass.”

Seriously, he was hot when he was being all vengeful badass.

Thinking that, it hit me.

I loved the Creed that was and he was still in there, with his kids, with me.

But without what happened to us, this Creed would never have been.

And I loved this Creed in a way that maybe time had dulled the feeling I had before even though it didn’t feel that way. Because I loved the man under me in a way that wasn’t just meant to be. It wasn’t a way we were born to be. It was in a way that needed to be.

With sudden clarity it hit me that I was always a bit of this Sylvie. I liked clothes and I gossiped with my girls and I put on makeup, even now. But I was not the daughter my father wanted, who adored ballet and wore ribbons in her hair and didn’t beg him to let me go fishing with him every time he went out with his buddies.

So maybe the Sylvie due to circumstances I became was the Sylvie I was supposed to be.

And Creed had always had badass in him. He was his father’s son. We even talked about him joining the military when we got wherever we were going to go, settled in and he was okay with the possibility of leaving me to go on assignment.

So maybe due to circumstances, he became the Creed he was supposed to be.

And because the universe wasn’t right without us together, we became that way then we came back together.

On this thought, I pressed closer and asked, “Do you think that shit had to happen so I could be who I am with who you came to be?”

Both his hands slid into my hair and fisted gently at the back of it, none of the intensity shifting out of his face when he replied, “Fuck… no. My Sylvie who had my back and stood by my side as best she could from the age of six to the age of eighteen did not deserve years of torture and living with the knowledge a man is dead at her hand and I didn’t deserve the shit dished out to me either. What I think is, it’s life. Life can be shit. We had our shit. We’ll have more of it, though, God willing, not that fuckin’ bad and we made our way back together because together is the way we’re born to be. But,” his hands in my hair pulled me closer and his voice dipped lower, “you wanna think it was supposed to happen that way. That makes you feel better. Think it. I just don’t agree.”

“The me that I am right now though, Creed, feels like the Sylvie I was meant to be,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, you are,” he agreed. “Comfortable in your skin. Good at what you do. You enjoy it. You like the way you live. I can see that. But you could have become this Sylvie without that shit buried in your soul,” he replied and I tipped my head to the side.

“Would you be down with that?”

He lifted his head an inch from the pillow so our faces were mega close and he whispered, “Then and now, beautiful, I’ll take you any way you come to me.” His hands in my hair shook my head gently. “Any way. I love this Sylvie. I loved that Sylvie. I just love you, baby.”

And I just loved him.

Any way he came to me.

To share this, I shoved my face in his neck.

Creed got the message and I knew this when his arms circled me and he gave me a mighty squeeze.

He allowed seconds to tick by before he murmured, “Gotta let you go, need to deal with this condom.”

“Right,” I murmured back and shifted off him.

He kissed my shoulder before he exited the bed. I had pulled on my panties and camisole by the time he got back.

Creed turned off the lone light we had on and pulled me into him, tucking me close and I took us full circle.

“I’m glad your kids like me, Creed.”

“What’d I say?” he asked in reply.

I pressed in closer, grinning at his shadowed skin.

Creed’s arms around me tightened then loosened and I relaxed into him.

Finally, I gave it to him.

“Just so you know, you haven’t changed much but I’d take you any way you came to me, too,” I whispered. “I loved you then. I love you now. I just love you, Creed.”

I heard him draw a breath as I felt his chest expand with it.

Then he released it and I felt his lips brush the top of my hair.

“Good to know,” he muttered there.

I smiled at his shadowed skin again before I took a deep breath and, in my man’s arms, after a day of fun and relaxation, a night of good food and then great fucking, I slipped straight into sleep.

Daddy showed him the picture. Me, wearing heels, a dress Creed had never seen, my hair done up in a way I never did it, looking older, like the days he’d spent there were years. I had Dixon’s arm around my waist, my hand lay on his chest and my head was resting on his shoulder.

“I told you,” Daddy whispered, his voice ugly in his glee. “Right from your arms to Jason’s. Right to Jason.”

Creed tried to focus through the hunger, the pain, the discomfort, the smell. He couldn’t see my face. He could barely see my profile.

But he knew I’d never go to Dixon.

Never.

Daddy went on, “He’ll make her happy. I promise you. I promise you, Tucker. He’ll make her happy. I’ll see to it. She’ll be happy in a way you never could make her be.”

Creed closed his eyes.

Daddy lost patience, his fingers shoving in Creed’s hair, yanking his head back and the pain spiked along the slice in his scalp. “Look at it!”

He opened his eyes and there I was.

His Sylvie.

Even in another man’s arms, he drank me in.

“That’s where she’s meant to be,” Daddy told him.

Creed knew Daddy was wrong.

That wasn’t where I was meant to be.

Because we were meant to be.

“He’ll make her happy,” Daddy continued. “I promise you that. You promise to vanish from her life, I promise, I vow, Sylvie will be happy.”

Creed’s eyes moved from the photo to Daddy and he whispered, his voice hoarse and weak, “He’ll never make her happy.”

Daddy yanked again on his hair, arching his neck pack, more pain, this excruciating, tearing through his entire scalp, down his neck and spine.

But Creed didn’t even groan.

All he said was, “Never.”

I shot up to sitting, the dream still having a hold on me but I didn’t get the chance to dart out of bed and do anything crazy.

This was because Creed had me on my back with him on me, his hands moving soothingly over my skin and his lips whispering, “Just a dream. Just a dream, baby.”

I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight through the shakes that trembled through me.

He rolled us to our sides and silently held me through the shakes, one hand drifting up and down my back, one hand sifting through my hair until the shakes left me.

Only then did he speak.

“This shit has got to stop.”

I tipped my head back and whispered, “I’ll get through it, Creed.”

I saw his darkened chin dip down and he replied, “Yeah. You will. By talkin’ to somebody. I don’t care who it is as long as it’s a professional.”

I felt my body get tight. “I’m not gonna go see somebody.”

“Yeah you are.”

I pulled up so we were face to face. “I’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’ll get through it.”

He disagreed. “Not on your own, you won’t.”

“Creed, it’s just bad dreams.”

“Sylvie, you got the beginnings of PTSD.”

It was then I felt my body go still.

Then I returned firmly, “I do not. It’s not a big deal. It’s just dreams.”

“It’s not just dreams, baby.”

“It is. That shit didn’t happen to me,” I reminded him. “It happened to you.”

“You’re right. The shit you’re dreamin’ about, it happened to me. What that shit led to, what’s buried and what’s fuckin’ with your head even if it isn’t comin’ out, is what happened to you after that happened to me. You’re dealin’ with a new load of fucked up shit on top of the old load you haven’t sorted through and your head is focusing on what you didn’t experience in order to avoid what you did.”

Oh God, now he was making sense.

“That’s whacked,” I scoffed to cover the fact he was freaking me out and Creed rolled into me and on me.

“It fuckin’ isn’t,” he growled. “Trust me that shit happened to me so I fuckin’ know. Years after that, Sylvie, years, that shit did a number on me. You think I didn’t have nightmares? You think I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat time and time a-fuckin’-gain? You think, to this day, I don’t always carry water with me in my fuckin’ car? I hear the sound of chains, my gut gets tight. To. This. Day. You were sold to an animal, an owned human being forced to do what he wanted you to do in ways no woman should have to perform and ended up killin’ him with a knife. You don’t do that shit and move to Denver and everything is cool. You process it. If you’re smart, you find the tools to deal with it because it’s always fuckin’ there. You just gotta learn to control it before it controls you.”

I hated that he went through that, all of it but also this new nuance he shared with me.

And I hated it when he made sense.

But I wasn’t ready to give in. “I can’t talk about this now. I need sleep then I need to get back to the hotel.”

“Yeah, you need to do both of those things but you can do them after you agree to see somebody.”

“Creed –”

”Sylvie.”

I fell silent.

He did, too.

We stared at each other in the dark.

God! I wished I was more patient.

“Fine,” I snapped.

I felt his body relax which sucked because I hadn’t noticed how tense he was. His tenseness communicated eloquently that my dreams were bothering him, maybe even more than they bothered me and that didn’t suck. That sucked huge.

“Good,” he muttered.

Whatever.

“Will you get off me so I can sleep?” I requested.

“Sure,” he agreed, his voice lighter, the smooth back in it. He tipped his head and touched his mouth to mine before he moved off me.

I was tucked close before I made my effort to save face after giving in.

“You know, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, I know,” he informed me. “My kids tell me that shit all the time, though they use different words. And they say it when I make decisions based on the fact that I love them and I want them to live the best life they can even if that row is hard to hoe. Don’t give a shit when they gripe. Won’t give a shit when you do either.”

Again.

Whatever.

“You can stop talking now,” I invited.

“Wasn’t me who broke the silence by tellin’ you that you’re a pain in my ass.”

I decided to take his anorexically veiled meaning and try silence.

Creed wasn’t done.

“Though, just sayin’, you’re also a pain in my ass.”

“You’re still talking,” I pointed out.

He stopped talking but his body started moving and I knew he was silently chuckling.

A-freaking-gain.

Whatever!

I was too annoyed to notice that even after the dream, Creed had led me so far from its residue, I fell right to sleep.

“Chelle picks them up at three. Come to the house at three thirty so we can head to the airport.”

We were standing at Creed’s front door and he was giving me directions I already had, something I was realizing I’d have to learn to live with because, apparently, badasses were bossy even when they didn’t need to be.

And repetitive.

“Right,” I muttered.

“You get lost, don’t like Cave Creek, call me. You can hit Cooper’stown for lunch then head back out here.”

Creed had given me some ideas of what to check out during my time alone in Phoenix and I’d picked two top contenders. One was Cave Creek, which was a town just out of the city and with its desert location, history and copious bars and restaurants, it sounded like the place for me. The other choice was Alice Cooper’s restaurant, Cooper’stown which was downtown and sounded like it had great food with seriously cool swag.

“I won’t get lost,” I told him but this was a lie. I probably would. I got lost all the time even with sat-nav because I routinely made the decision to distrust sat-nav and went my own way and got lost which was why I got sat-nav to begin with. It didn’t make sense but then again, a lot of things about me didn’t make sense. I’d learned to roll with it.

Creed stared at me a beat then repeated, “Take the one-oh-one to Cave Creek Road, baby. It’s not hard. If you make it hard and get lost, call me.”

I stared at him but I did it with narrowed eyes and repeated, “I won’t get lost.”

“You will.”

“It’s easy to get there, Creed.”

“You forget, I followed your ass, frequently, for a month. My count, while I was followin’ you, you got lost five times. Take the one-oh-one to Cave Creek Road, you get lost, call me. You with me?”

Annoying!

“Just asking, we established your kids like me, will they stop liking me if I wake them up on a Sunday morning by kicking your ass in the dining room?”

He grinned. “No, probably not seeing as you got absolutely no prayer in hell at kickin’ my ass and they’ll find it amusing to watch you try.”

I cocked my head to the side. “That a challenge?”

His grin got bigger. “Yep.”

“I accept.”

His grin changed and I felt the change spasm through me as he dipped his head close to mine and whispered, “I take you, I fuck your ass after I make it so you beg me to do it. You take me, you get to tie me to the bed and do whatever you want to me.”

Holy shit!

I was so totally winning this. All that was Creed at my mercy?

Yeah. So. Totally. Winning. This.

“You’re on,” I whispered back.

“Don’t tire yourself out, baby. We play out the challenge tonight.”

Oh yeah.

I smiled slow. “I’ll be ready.”

His face dipped closer. “Yeah you will. After I pin you, I’ll make sure of it, beautiful.”

Another spasm shot through me before I asked, “You gonna make me have a spontaneous orgasm at the front door or are you gonna let me go get lost in Phoenix?”

The sexy swept clean free of his face, his hands came up to frame mine and his face stayed close when he answered quietly, “I’ll never let you go but I’ll let you leave… for now.”

Seriously, he had to quit saying shit like that. He was killing me.

“FYI, babe, I’m not a woman prone to liking fervent avowals of adoration,” I told him in an effort to get him to stop making me feel squishy happy like a big girl.

His hands framing my face pulled me closer. “Bullshit, Sylvie. I say that shit, light hits your eyes. You love that shit, you feed off it and I’m gonna give it to you until you’re addicted to it and can’t live without it.” His thumbs swept my cheekbones and his voice went velvet rough. “But don’t worry. I swear, I won’t make you have to.”

He was wrong.

Not about my bullshit. He was totally right about that.

He was wrong about having to give it to me until I was addicted to it.

I already was.

“Let me go, hot stuff,” I whispered, lifting my hands to curl my fingers around his wrists. “It’s getting late.”

Frustration flashed briefly in his eyes before he nodded and pulled me closer while lifting up his head so I felt his lips on my forehead. Then he tipped my head back and I felt his lips touch mine. Finally, he let me go and stepped away but grabbed my hand while his other opened the door and he walked me out to his front step.

He squeezed my hand and I looked up at him.

“Later, Sylvie.”

“Later, babe.”

I got up on tiptoe, he bent for me and I touched my mouth to his.

When I pulled back, his eyes were looking deep into mine and I could see the light in them, happiness and hope in his rugged, scarred features, the feeling I felt in my soul reflected in his face, a look he just told me I gave back.

Yeah, I was addicted.

Totally.

And so was Creed.

Then again, that was always the way.

And, hope to God, it always would be.