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It swallowed me whole like a rogue wave. My wife was in my arms again, and I was drowning in happiness.
And that fucking terrified me.
20
LILA
The bed was empty.
Well, not empty empty. I was in it.
Seb, however, was not.
If anyone had asked, I would have said I didn’t expect him to be. One, because chickens and goats demanded breakfast regardless of whether I was an emotional wreck after fucking the love of my life a mere forty-eight hours after filing for divorce.
And two, because it was Seb.
Logically, rationally, when I closed my eyes last night, I hadn't expected Seb to be here when I opened them again. But clearly my heart wasn’t logical or rational, because when my hand hit cold, empty sheets, my chest felt like it was being squeezed by a very angry fist.
And that pissed me right off.
Hadn’t I hurt enough over this man? I should be done with that. I had earned just-once-to-get-it-out-of-our-systems, mind-bogglingly good sex without the repercussion of emotional damage. I deserved it after everything I’d gone through.
But emotional damage was the only way to explain why I rolled over and pressed my face into his pillow and inhaled his clean, woodsy scent like a goddamn addict. I had just enough self-respect to stop myself from wrapping the sheets around me. They didn’t only smell like Seb—they smelled like both of us, together. Like sex. At some point in the middle of the night, he had rolled me onto my back and kissed me into drowsy consciousness. Please, baby, he had whispered, and I had spread my legs and pulled him inside me without a second thought. He had been tender and slow, and the deep orgasm that rolled through me had left me gasping.
With a disgusted huff, I tossed aside the sheets and hopped out of bed. I stripped off the sheets, marched them to the washing machine, and dumped them inside. His scent still lingered on my body, so I scrubbed my skin until it was as pink as a sunburn.
But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I feared I would never be clean of him again.
“Sit with us, Lila.” Emma nudged the rocking chair next to hers with her toe. “The show’s about to start.”
Since the only thing I had going on at the moment was avoiding Seb, I plopped down. “What show is that?”
“The hot cowboy show. Iced tea?” Lennon raised the pitcher, and I nodded.
“Yes, please.”
She poured me a glass and passed it to Emma, who passed it to me with her eyes glued to the expanse of lawn between the lodge and the stable. “You know, I’ve given this some thought, and I don’t think it’s the cowboy factor that makes it so hot. It’s the special ops training. It’s the contained violence.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “Don’t tell Blair I said that. I haven’t given up on setting her a good example.”
I followed her gaze to where Seb, Liam, Jeremiah, Mateo, and Holly were pushing wire wickets into the grass. I pushed my sunglasses up on my head to get a better look. “Are they playing croquet?”
“Blood ball.” Lennon grinned. “It’s like if croquet, rugby, and chess had a very chaotic, very violent baby.”
Seb, Holly, Jeremiah, Mateo, and Liam lined up behind five brightly colored balls with matching wooden mallets.
“Go!” Holly shouted.
Chaos ensued. Mallets, balls, and bodies were everywhere. I gaped as Seb and Liam went for the same wicket at the same time, clashing together like linebackers—except they weren’t wearing padding. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“That’s the idea.” Emma stretched her arms over the back of her rocking chair, totally relaxed.
I didn’t feel the same way, especially when Seb tackled Holly to the ground. Red seeped behind the torn knee of his joggers. I jumped to my feet, ready to run to him, but Emma tugged me back down.
“He’s fine,” she assured me.
“Fifty points for Holly,” Lennon remarked. “She’s in the lead now. Jeremiah is in second.” She sounded a little smug about that. “Of course, that will probably change five times in the next thirty minutes.”
“How are you keeping score?” I asked. “They’re not even taking turns.”
