Page 82 of Not Mine to Rescue

“Just pot. That’s not addictive.”

Denial. Cannabis use disorder was a real DSM entry. “Does he use every day?”

“Naw. He’s cut way back to take care of Hal. He’s got a job and everything. And that’s a sore spot with Mom, who thinks he should be dosing with her. They’re not doing good.”

“She needs help.” I hope he knew I was talking about his mother, not his sister. It sounded like he and his father were doing what they could.

“She won’t get it. One of these days she’s going to trip and not come back. Lemon won’t talk to her, and Sonnet? Geesh, she gave up on all of us before they took off. Which, in hindsight was the smartest possible move. I just wish she’d taken us with her.”

The call lapsed into silence. I couldn’t come up with anything comforting to say. I wanted to hold him and tell him he’d done his best. Even though on paper it looked like he’d followed in his parents’ footsteps, I knew he’d done more by age seventeen than they’d accomplished in their entire lives.

Wombat broke the silence first. “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants and T-shirt.”

“No bra?”

I smiled. He was trying to distract me. Or maybe he was trying to distract himself. “No bra.”

“Mmm.” The growl in his tone rumbled through the phone, touching me deep between my legs.

“You can come over if you want.”

“Can I stay the night?”

It was a work night, but I agreed anyway.

When I unlocked the door for him, he didn’t talk. Not in the hallway, nor on our stumbling trek up two flights of stairs, nor when he pulled my shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder to join my sweatpants on the floor.

In contrast, his clothing had been discarded in dribs and drabs all the way down the path to where he’d left his boots next to the cabinet in my front hall. His pants were the last to go as he handed me the condom he’d pulled from his pocket and joined me.

Only after he seated deep inside me did he groan out my name. I kissed him madly, trying to silence him, or simply devour him. I couldn’t decide. Our lovemaking was hot, angsty, and deeply wounded, but somehow we both just needed the connection. It clicked together right as he dug deep. His fingertips bruised my thighs, and I pressed the tips of my fingernails into his shoulders.

He bit my neck.

I screamed out as my pussy pulsed around him. His cock throbbed double to our heartbeats.

And then there was grace. It settled deep as we both clung to that connection between us. I didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking the spell it held over me.

He shifted, pulling out carefully, then wrapping his arms around me in a hug so strong I felt whole. I replied by locking my legs around his waist and running one hand through his hair. My other hand held his shoulders in place so we could remain connected by skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and nothing could strip us apart.

Of course, that’s when Molly quietly climbed onto the mattress near our feet. She did her usual two lefts, a right, then another left. Her jaw settled on my hip with an almost human-sounding groan of pleasure.

Wombat lifted his head to check on her. “There’s no moving now.”

“Nope. Dog says stay.”

He snorted. “You’ve got a smart dog.”

A moment later, his phone rang, breaking our connection and ruining the nice bubble of happiness that had enveloped us.

He scrambled off the bed, displacing Molly, and dug it out of his pants. “Lemon, you know I’m at—Fuck!” He straightened with his back to me. The muscles of his back tensed. “Just drive, get him there as fast you can. I’ll meet you. Is Fly with you?”

In the pause, he pulled on his jeans and fastened them while bracing the phone against his shoulder.

“Good. Tell him to drive faster.” He set his phone on the nightstand and swore again. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”

“On the steps? What’s wrong?”