Jagged

Chapter Nine

Our Beginning

“Ham,” I breathed.

“What ’cha need to take you there?” Ham growled.

“Oh God,” I whimpered.

“Baby, hurry, I’m close,” Ham grunted.

We were in the living room. My panties were dangling from my ankle. My back was to the wall. The bottom of my wraparound dress was gaping open because my legs were wrapped around Ham’s hips, my arms around his shoulders, and he was powering deep.

Suffice it to say, when I wandered out of his bedroom in a clingy dress that showed cleavage, spiked, high-heeled sandals, hair out to there with soft curls and sweet flips, and sultry makeup, Ham liked what he saw.

Thus me against the wall getting it from my guy.

“Keep going,” I begged.

“Fuck, should have dropped to my knees and ate you before I fucked you,” he groaned.

That did it. My head flew back and hit wall, my hands slid up and clenched in his hair, my legs squeezed him hard, my sex squeezed him harder, and I cried out as I came hard.

“Thank fuck,” he muttered, shoved his face in my neck, thrust his cock inside again, again, again, jolting me, prolonging my fantastic orgasm, making me moan then he finally buried himself deep and groaned into my neck.

I pressed my face into his, held on tight, and started sliding my lips on his skin and nuzzling his jaw and ear with my nose when his cock started gliding in and out of me.

He kept gliding as he whispered against the skin of my neck, “Just in case you hadn’t noticed, glad to have you back, cookie.”

I smiled against his skin when I replied, “Glad to be back, bruiser.”

I felt his smile as he clarified on an inward glide, “All the way back, babe.”

“All the way back, darlin’.”

He slid in and stayed there but lifted his face out of my neck so I tipped mine to catch his eyes and saw his brows raised.

“Bruiser?”

“You run on nothing but coffee,” I explained.

His raised brows lowered but drew together in confusion as he asked, “What?”

“Only a bruiser who could kick the ass of a cage fighter named Butch Razor can run five miles on nothin’ but a cup of coffee,” I expanded my explanation.

Ham stared at me.

Then he threw back his handsome, dark head with messy hair I’d delightfully made messy and he burst out laughing.

I saw it, heard it, and felt it, the last in very, very good places.

And I loved every bit of it.

We both had the day off, as Ham always arranged, and we spent nearly all of it in bed, taking a long, happy trip down memory lane.

Seeing as we woke up after noon, we had to make up for lost time before dinner at The Rooster. Ham made us some eggs and toast. We had the annoying errand of taking a trip to Carnal Hotel to get my stuff (my fault). Ham helped me drag my stuff from my room into his and then we showered together before Ham left me to get ready.

The trip to The Rooster was long, an hour, but we didn’t talk about anything important on the way there. I was too busy being happy that first, Ham held my hand while he drove; second, he always looked hot but in dark denims and a black untucked, straight-hemmed tailored shirt that he left open at the collar, he looked hot; and last, I was going to The Rooster at all.

I’d been there seven times, all of them with other guys, four of those times with Greg pre- and during marriage. It had fabulous décor, with Cotton prints hanging on the walls, so many windows you could see through it, it was high up on a mountainside, you didn’t go there unless you dressed up, and its menu was pricey. Mostly steaks. Everything good.

It was the perfect place for the celebration of Ham and me being back, all the way back, so far back that we were at a place we’d never been, and for us to lay it bare so we could understand each other and move on with no surprises.

I was riding a happy wave the likes I’d never felt in my life.

Ham had bought a TV.

Ham had talked about settling.

Ham had talked about having a family.

Ham had come back to Gnaw Bone for me.

Thus I wandered into The Rooster in the curve of Ham’s arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist, my head tipped to the side and resting on his shoulder, my face, I was sure, wearing a goofy but gleeful smile, thinking that nothing could pierce this happiness.

At the same time I marveled that, not a year ago, I had been at what I thought was my lowest, only to sink lower.

And now I was here.

Ham muttered, “Graham Reece,” to the hostess. She murmured, “Right this way,” back, I came out of my bubble of happiness, focused on the room, and my bubble burst.

I also tripped over my feet.

This was because, in the far back corner, sat Greg, his eyes on Ham, his face pale, his company clearly business associates.

And in the front corner was Kami Maxwell, Max’s sister, a woman I’d known years who had always been slightly bitchy and constantly in a foul mood but had mellowed a bit when her brother’s girlfriend had faced imminent death and bested it. Still, she was unpredictable, and right then, her eyes were sharp on me in a way I didn’t like. In a way I worried Cotton or Arlene had got her ear. And if Kami Maxwell had something to say, whether you wanted to hear it or not, she said it.

And last, at the back wall sat my aunt, my father’s sister, a woman I hadn’t spoken to in nine years, a woman I detested, a woman I never wanted to see again in my life. Which was an impossible feat since we both lived in the same town. She was also sending a venomous stare my way.

“Cookie, you good?” Ham asked, his arm giving me a squeeze and I tipped my head to look at him.

“This is a disaster,” I whispered.

His brows shot together and the hostess announced, “Here we are.”

I looked at her, motioning to a booth and declared, “We have to go.”

She blinked.

“What the fuck’re you talkin’ about?” Ham asked under his breath.

“Greg’s here,” I told him.

His head jerked, his eyes scanned, they narrowed when he caught sight of Greg, and he muttered, “Fuck.”

“And Kami Maxwell,” I went on.

He looked down at me and asked, “Who?”

I didn’t answer. I continued.

“And my aunt. Dad’s sister.”

His arm tightened reflexively, curling me into his front, and his head shot up, his eyes scanning again. He’d seen her but never met her and I knew when he caught sight of her because his jaw got hard.

“Mr. Reece?” the hostess called.

A muscle jumped in his cheek and he looked back down at me.

“Fuck ’em, this is our night.”

“Ham—”

His arm tightened further. “Fuck ’em, cookie, this is our night. I want this, a nice place, good food, you lookin’ fuckin’ amazing sittin’ across from me, me sharin’ important shit you gotta understand. They don’t exist. The room is meltin’ away. It’s just you and me, good food, and me givin’ you all of me. This is our night. You with me?”

Ham giving me all of him.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“There she is,” he whispered back. “Easy.”

He dipped his head to touch his mouth to mine and I tried not to think of Greg, seeing that only seven months after our divorce was final and my aunt seeing it, since my father hated Ham nearly as much as Ham hated my father. Dad had thought Ham was too rough, too old, too coarse and he shared that with me, Ham, and, undoubtedly, my aunt.

Ham curled me away from his body, nodded to the hostess, guided me to one side of our booth, and, when I’d settled, slid into the other one.

The hostess waited until I’d stowed my purse and shrugged off my coat before she handed us menus and swept away.

A waitress wearing a white shirt, black trousers, long slim black tie, and a long white apron hit our table approximately half a second after our hostess left.

“Two Coors, draft,” Ham ordered before she opened her mouth to speak.

“Certainly, would you like to hear the specials?” she asked.

“Later,” he answered. “Beer first.”

She nodded and floated away.

I only half heard this. Mostly, I was trying to make the room melt away and praying our waitress didn’t dillydally with the beers.

“Babe,” Ham called.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled in answer, my focus on smoothing my napkin in my lap.

“Cookie, baby, come back to me,” he urged gently.

My eyes went to him.

“This is our beginning. Don’t let them fuck it up.”

This was our beginning.

I reached a hand across the table to him.

Ham caught it.

“Okay,” I replied.

He gave my hand a squeeze and let me go.

“Decide what you want. We’ll get into the deep shit when we won’t have interruptions.”

I nodded, picked up my menu, and read.

The beers came. We both ordered steaks. And loaded baked potatoes, sautéed mushrooms, and appetizers.

Ham ended this session by tipping his head to his beer and stating, “These get low, don’t ask. Bring more.”

“Of course,” she muttered and took off.

I stared at him with some unease.

“Am I going to need to be drunk?” I asked.

“No. How Rachel fucked me was a long time ago and it was me she fucked,” he answered.

“I, uh… Rachel?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.

“The bitch who aborted my babies.”

My mouth went dry, my hand resting on the table twitched, and I stared.

Did he say babies? Plural?

“What?” I breathed.

“Woman’s right to choose, I’m down with that. It wasn’t that, seein’ as we were married, planning a family, worked toward it, she got pregnant, I was fuckin’ beside myself, and she hauled off and ended it without one word to me.”

My throat was moving convulsively. It took effort to get it under control and when I did, I asked, “You were married?”

“Yeah. Got hitched when we were both twenty-one. Young, but I loved her, thought she loved me. It was all good.”

“I, uh… thought you said you’d never had a roommate except, well… me,” I reminded him and his head tipped to the side.

“A wife’s not a roommate, babe. She’s a partner.”

This was true.

It was time for the tough stuff.

“Why did she… she… end the pregnancy?” I queried.

“Said she didn’t know what she wanted,” Ham answered immediately. “Said I pressured her into it. Said a baby was a big deal and she should be sure.”

This was all true, except the part where he said they’d planned and worked toward it.

“I—” I began.

“Thing is,” Ham spoke over me, “she shoulda said that before she got knocked up. And she sure as fuck shouldn’t have aborted my kid without fuckin’ talking to me.”

Yes, she sure as fuck shouldn’t have done that.

“I don’t believe this,” I whispered.

“It was twenty years ago and, still, I don’t believe it either.”

I held his eyes. I knew mine were soft and I told him, “Ham, darlin’, I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothin’ to say,” he replied. “That started years of serious sick shit, which I participated in, bein’ stupid, young, in love, addicted to her pussy, and, again, fuckin’ stupid,” he went on. “I left. She coaxed me back, promises of together forever and family. We’d get down to talkin’ about tryin’ again. She’d be all for it and then I’d find her birth control pills.”

This just got worse.

Ham wasn’t done.

“I’d confront her. She’d twist shit, convince me that I was layin’ it heavy on her. I’d back off, same shit would happen. I’d leave, she’d coax me back. Fuckin’ stupid. Whacked. Now, for a long time, it’s over.”

“Man, oh man, I… Ham, I… I’m at a loss,” I stammered.

“Yeah. Took a while for me to get old enough and smart enough to see things as they were. She was a selfish, spoiled bitch who wanted what she wanted how and when she wanted it and would do anything to get it. But the problem was, she wasn’t all-fired sure of what that was and she dragged me through that shit. Or it could be I didn’t get old enough and smart enough, just angry enough after she aborted my second baby.”

There it was. Babies. Plural.

I closed my eyes.

“Lost my fuckin’ mind, left her, divorced her ass, found I had a type,” Ham continued and I opened my eyes. “I didn’t give up. I tried. Got tangled in other relationships. Got jacked around, not as bad, but not good, by the woman after her and the woman after her. The first one took money out of my wallet without askin’, like I wouldn’t miss it, and went shoppin’ all the time, hidin’ the shit she bought from me, like I wouldn’t notice it when she eventually wore it. This was also somehow my fault because I didn’t take her anywhere nice, but more, I didn’t make enough money to do it and often.”

Yes. This just got worse.

“Ham—” I started, only for him to talk over me again.

“Bitch three pulled much the same shit as my ex-wife, promises of together and babies, but she worked out half the time. I had to pry her away from her goddamned mirror, she admired the results so much, and by the time we got down to it, again, I found her birth control pills so I knew she was jacking me. This, too, was my fault because I didn’t understand her issues with her body and how a baby would interfere with all her hard work, her body would never be the same, and she was uncertain she was prepared for that at her age. I knew she’d carried extra weight ’cause I was with her before she took it all off. And I knew she worked hard to get it off. I could understand that. Again, that’s the way she is. I get it. What I don’t get is her tellin’ me one thing and doin’ another. You don’t want a baby, say it.”

“They’d lose you if they did,” I explained carefully.

“So jackin’ me around is okay?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No,” I answered hurriedly. “I’m not excusing them. I’m just trying to explain so you understand. Losing you—especially you—is a hard thing to do, Ham. You’re a good guy.”

“Right.” He gave a curt nod. “I think I got that, babe. So exit good-guy Reece. From then on it was no promises, no expectations. Just good times and no bullshit. She starts feeding me bullshit, she doesn’t get another call.”

I pressed my lips together and Ham’s eyes dropped to them before coming back to mine.

“You always got a call,” he reminded me.

“I know.”

“So what’s with the look?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering how many women are out there, waiting for calls,” I answered hesitantly.

“None, seein’ as, when I made my decision it was you and Gnaw Bone, the only other one I had got a call explaining shit and how she wouldn’t be gettin’ future calls. She was in Taos. She was new, a good-time girl, and, babe, it might make me sound like a dick but she wasn’t gonna make the cut anyway. Outside of her, there was only Feb and she’d already moved on.”

All the air squeezed out of my lungs.

The good news was, there was only one.

The bad news was, he’d again mentioned February Owens and her “already moving on,” which made me wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Would he be in Indiana with February?

“How fantastic is this? And you don’t have food! Perfect timing for us to join you!”

Ham’s eyes shot up, my head twisted around, but I already knew that English-accented voice.

Nina and Max were standing there.

Damn.

“Max, darling, isn’t this great?” Nina asked when no one said a word.

Max didn’t look like he thought it was great. His eyes were aimed Greg’s way. Then they swung his sister’s way. Then he looked down at his wife and lifted his brows.

She completely ignored him and shoved into the booth next to Ham.

“You’re Graham Reece,” she stated, pushing her hand his way.

Ham looked at her hand then at her face before he took her hand, muttering, “Reece.”

“Delighted,” she replied as he let her go and her eyes went to her husband. “Max, honey, sit down.” Before Max could do as ordered, or not, she snapped her fingers at a passing waitress and said, “We’re sitting here. Please, when you have a second, we need menus.”

I scooted over when Max slid in beside me and I tipped my head back when his arm curled around my shoulders for a squeeze as his head came down and he kissed my cheek.

“Hey, Zara,” he greeted.

“Hey, Max,” I replied.

Max let me go and extended a hand to Ham. “Reece. Holden Maxwell. Max.”

“Yeah, seen you at The Dog. Good to meet you,” Ham murmured as they did a shake and let go.

Ham looked at me.

I widened my eyes to him.

He raised his brows to me.

I pressed my lips together.

“Can I get you drinks?” our waitress asked the newcomers while handing them menus.

“Beer and keep bringin’ ’em,” Max answered on a mutter.

“Martini for me. Vodka. Up. Olive,” Nina added.

The waitress nodded and moved away.

“Duchess, I said beer and keep ’em comin’. You wanted to do this, I get to drink and you drive us home,” Max told his wife.

I didn’t know what “this” was that Nina wanted to do but I suspected it had something to do with them horning in on my special night with Ham.

And, by the way, Max’s nickname for his wife was “duchess,” this being because she had an English accent. He called her that all the time and I thought it was all kinds of cute.

“Just one,” Nina told her husband. “By the time I’m finished with dinner, I’ll be fine.”

Max looked at Ham and there was a light in his eye and his lips were twitching before he informed him, “You heard it. Now watch as she gets fuckin’ smashed and I stop at beer two.”

I was beginning to feel a hysterical giggle forming inside me.

“I’m not going to get smashed,” Nina snapped.

“We been here fifteen times. Each time, except when you were pregnant, you had two martinis, half a bottle of wine, and an amaretto and passed out in the Cherokee on the way home,” Max returned. She opened her mouth to speak but Max beat her to it, his lips now fully curved up. “And the passing-out part includes when you were pregnant and not smashed.”

Definitely feeling a hysterical giggle forming.

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll remind you, Holden Maxwell, father of my children, love of my life, that we just met Reece and perhaps he doesn’t wish to listen to us squabbling.”

Max looked at Ham. “Kiss that good-bye. We’ll be fightin’ on and off through dinner. Prepare. She gets riled, we’re all fucked.”

The words sounded like Max was complaining but his tone sounded downright proud.

Nina swung her gaze to Ham. “Don’t listen to him. Ask Zara. I’m very sweet.”

“She’s a goddamn hellion,” Max muttered, now sounding proud and amused.

The hysterical giggle was choking me at exactly the same time Ham burst out laughing.

Still laughing, Ham cut his eyes to Max and asked, “You mind we switch sides? Since we got company, I’d like to sit by my woman.”

“Not a problem. I’m closer to my wife, I have a better shot at controlling her,” Max replied, sliding out of his side of the booth.

“Max!” Nina hissed as she slid out of hers.

“Not a good chance,” Max told Ham as they switched sides, “but a better one.”

Everyone settled. Max with his arm resting on the back of their side of the booth, Nina fuming, Max grinning at her. Ham with his arm on the back of our booth, fingers absently brushing my shoulder, both of us sipping beer and smiling.

When their drinks arrived, I took the chance to put my lips to Ham’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered there.

“I take it they’re your friends,” he whispered in mine.

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t be, baby. We’ll finish later.”

“Okay.”

I pulled away but he caught me with his arm around my shoulders, pulled me back, and touched his mouth to mine.

When he let me go, we settled back and my eyes went to Nina.

She was sipping her martini.

When she placed the drink back on the table, her eyes were dancing on me and she said, “Told you.”

It hit me then. She knew why Ham was pissed about the vibrator usage.

I smiled at her and replied, “You so totally did.”

Nina was halfway through her martini and we were all the way through our bread basket when she leaned toward Ham and me.

“I know you think we’re rude—” she started.

“That’s because we are rude,” Max murmured. Nina sent him a killing glance, to which Max grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and then looked back at us.

“But, I’m sure you know this, Greg is here,” she finished.

“I noticed,” I told her.

“And Kami,” she told me.

“I know,” I told her.

“When I saw that, we had to come over and interrupt. You needed reinforcements. Trust me, things can go bad at The Rooster,” she stated gravely.

I found this intriguing, but before I could ask, Nina’s eyes darted to the side and up and she inquired, “Can I help you?”

“No,” my aunt snapped from where she stood beside our table.

I tensed. Ham went solid. I even sensed Nina and Max tensing.

“Walk away,” Ham growled.

I looked to the side to see Ham’s head tipped back to scowl at Dahlia Cinders, my maiden aunt, who had a black soul, a nasty mouth, a heart of stone, and a flair for drama.

She looked like she always looked, except older. Perfectly creased trousers. Flouncy blouse. Appropriate jewelry, all of it quality, none of it ostentatious. Now-fully-gray hair swept back in a not unattractive bun but, knowing her, nothing was attractive. Brown eyes that didn’t hide she was mean as a snake.

She ignored his words but not him.

“Heard you were back in town. Heard you installed her back under your roof,” she noted.

“Walk away,” Ham repeated.

She again ignored him and went on. “Clearly she didn’t learn the first time, good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Nina gasped.

Max grunted.

My breath caught.

“Walk… the fuck… away,” Ham snarled.

“Excuse me, I don’t know you or why you’re suddenly here, but we’re trying to enjoy a nice night out,” Nina butted in. “Please, make a choice and do it swiftly. You can do as Mr. Reece says or I’m calling the manager.”

My aunt turned her venomous eyes to Nina. “I have a few words to say to my niece.”

Nina didn’t even blink but her back went straight.

She’d never met them but I’d told her. She knew all about my family.

“So write them down on nice notepaper and use our trusty postal service to deliver them,” Nina retorted.

“Oh fuck,” Max muttered, getting close and curling an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Nice language,” Aunt Dahlia snapped.

Max looked at her a moment, then, weirdly, grinned.

“Excuse me!” Nina hissed. “That’s my husband you’re talking to.”

“He has a foul mouth,” Aunt Dahlia returned.

“Better that than foul manners,” Nina shot back.

This was semiamusing but mostly scary and it got scarier when Ham slid out of the booth, got close to Aunt Dahlia, looked down at her, his scary-scarier-scariest face unamused and entirely pissed-off, and he rumbled menacingly, “I said, walk… the fuck…away.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Oh hell.

That was Greg.

“You,” Aunt Dahlia sneered at my ex-husband. “I know who you are. Her one shot at respectability and you scrape her off? What, did she cheat on you?”

Greg ignored her, looked to me, and asked, “Are you all right?”

“This is my Aunt Dahlia,” I stated as answer.

“I know. You pointed her out at the festival three years ago,” Greg replied.

“So, obviously, no. I’m not all right, seeing as I’m choking on Cinders-infected air,” I returned.

Greg looked at Aunt Dahlia. “You need to leave.”

“I already told her that,” Ham growled.

Greg ignored Ham like he didn’t exist and said to Aunt Dahlia, “I’ll ask the manager to have you removed.”

“Since I dine here once a month, I doubt he’ll choose removing me over removing the lot of you.” She twirled her finger in the air to indicate us all.

“Do you think,” Nina started and I looked at her to see her looking at Max, “that this is normal? I mean, does this kind of thing happen to other people in the world? I really want to know.”

Max smiled at his wife.

I looked back at Aunt Dahlia to see, scarily, she was looking at me. “You need to phone your father.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

This was said by Kami Maxwell.

I leaned forward and plonked my forehead on the table.

“Kami,” Max said in a warning tone. “Stay out of it.”

“The staff is excellent when they’re serving food,” Nina remarked irritably. “They disappear during drama. Where are they? I really want to know.”

“Don’t you call your father, Zara,” Kami ordered.

I lifted my forehead off the table and aimed my eyes at Max’s sister, a pleasantly plump, female rendition of her brother, which was to say she had great eyes, fantastic dark, wavy hair, and very attractive features.

“That’s not a worry, honey. I’ve conditioned my body to spontaneously combust if I get six digits in,” I told her.

“I don’t find you amusing,” Aunt Dahlia snapped.

“I don’t give a shit,” I shot back.

“Excuse me.” Greg had hold of the arm of one of the waiters. “Can you please send the manager over here?”

“Of course,” she muttered before she quickly scurried away.

“You’re a mean old bitch,” Kami said to my aunt, “and I’ve been bein’ nice for a real long time.”

Nina’s eyes cut to me and got huge, eloquent indication that I agreed with that Kami’s brand of “bein’ nice” was not agreed on by all.

Kami kept talking.

“And these boys here won’t want to get in a smackdown with a nasty old woman. But not me. I got no problem doin’ that. So if you don’t walk away, I’ve got enough bitch stored up, I’m aimin’ it all at you, startin’ with throwin’ Nina’s drink in your face.”

At this, Nina slid her drink out of reach.

“Then,” Kami went on, “if you, that snake of a brother of yours, or his sniveling wife get anywhere near Zara, phone her, or attempt to get in touch with her in any way, I’m unleashing all holy hell on all your asses until you beg for forgiveness or move to another state.”

“Is there a problem here?” A mild-mannered-looking suited man I suspected was the manager entered the situation.

“No, I’m simply having a word with my niece,” my aunt replied.

“Yes, this woman interrupted my wife’s dinner in an extremely unpleasant way,” Greg contradicted.

“She’s not your wife,” Ham grunted.

Uh-oh.

Shocking the crap out of me, Greg, with narrowed eyes and anger contorting his face, instantly fired back at Ham, “She’ll always be my wife.”

I went still. The table went still. I fancied the restaurant went still as I was pretty certain I watched ice form in a thick layer, crackling and groaning all around Ham.

“Well shit.” His words were sarcastic but that didn’t mean they weren’t dripping icicles. “See I’m in a position to apologize since I fucked your wife against the wall before we left to come here.”

This was when I plonked my head on the table again.

“Oh my,” Nina breathed as she glanced at Max. “We haven’t done that in a while, darling. We should do that again.”

“Gross,” Kami said.

“Foul,” Aunt Dahlia snapped.

“I’m never comin’ to The Rooster again,” Max declared.

“Maybe we should take this outside,” Greg suggested, and at the thought of Greg, five-nine and not having worked out since high school football, going up against Bruiser Ham, my head shot up.

“Stop it,” I whispered and I felt all eyes come to me but I was looking at Greg. “This was gonna happen, either for you or for me. It was always gonna be unpleasant. I cannot fathom why you’d make it more so,” I told him.

He knew what I meant. His face blanched, his eyes went contrite, but I looked at Aunt Dahlia.

“I’m never calling my father. I have nothing to say to him and he has nothing to say that I want to hear. You also don’t have anything to say that I want to hear. I can’t imagine after all that went down nearly a decade ago how you’d have the gall to walk up to my table, badmouth my man, and be all-around nasty but you did it. You did it well. Congratulations. Now, please, go away.”

She sniffed, opened her mouth to say something, but I quickly looked to Ham.

“Please, darlin’, sit down. They don’t exist. This is our night. We’re enjoyin’ it with friends. Let’s get back to doin’ that.”

Ham hesitated a beat before he slid in beside me.

I looked at Kami.

“Thanks for comin’ to my rescue but it’s all good now.”

Kami didn’t move, crossed her arms on her chest, and glared at Aunt Dahlia.

Aunt Dahlia shot her a look that only a shield of orneriness as world-class as Kami’s could save her from bursting into flames and then Aunt Dahlia flounced off.

“Zara—” Greg started. Ham tensed beside me and I quickly looked to Greg.

“Please, don’t. I’ll call you later,” I said quietly.

He looked to me, avoided all other eyes, and took off.

“Nina, Max, always a blast,” Kami said to her brother and sister-in-law. “Guy I don’t know, you treat her like shit, I slash your tires,” she said to Ham. “Zara, later,” she said to me, and then she sauntered away.

“All right now?” the suited manager asked.

“Yes, no thanks to you,” Nina answered on a snap.

“I’ll have complimentary drinks sent to your table,” he muttered, backing away.

“That will be good… to start,” Nina returned.

He disappeared.

I took in a deep breath.

Ham curled an arm around me and pulled me into his side.

“You okay, cookie?” he asked.

I tipped my head back to look at him.

“How are you with grilling steak?” I asked.

“You know the answer to that,” he answered.

I did. He was the master. Outside grill. Fried in butter in a skillet. Broiled. You name it, he did it, and well.

“Next time, we eat in,” I told him.

He grinned.

“Cookie. I like that,” Nina murmured.

I looked to her and she smiled.

I relaxed into Ham’s side.

His arm around me got tighter.

The rest of the restaurant melted away.

Only then did I smile back at Nina.

We were in Ham’s bed, Ham on his back, me pressed to his side, my cheek to his shoulder, my hand resting on his chest.

I was exhausted. A day of a lot of great sex, good food, good drink, and, in the end, good company made me that way.

Nothing else happened after the incident with my aunt, Greg, and Kami, thank God, although I noticed that Max seemed a little standoffish with Ham but hid it behind his friendly Max ways. This melted after the appetizers and by the end of the night, luckily, everyone was getting on great and we had a good time.

But right then, as exhausted as I was, I knew sleep wouldn’t find me. There was too much on my mind. What Ham told me. How sad it was. How angry it made me feel that those women treated him that way, most especially his bitch of a wife. The fact that we’d been interrupted and I was worried there was more. Greg on the whole and what I was going to do about him.

But mostly, my aunt.

I would know that Ham also had things on his mind when he rumbled into the dark, “Somethin’s gotta be done about that ex of yours, cookie.”

I pressed closer and promised, “I’ll talk to him.”

“That is not gonna happen.”

His words surprised me so much I lifted my head and looked down at him in the dark.

“What?”

“I’ll have words with that fuckwit.”

I felt my body get tight. “Babe, he’s not a fuckwit.”

“Called you his wife. Got in my face,” Ham laid out the evidence.

“See it from his perspective,” I urged.

“Got in your face while you were at work.”

He did do that, though I wouldn’t call it “getting in my face.”

However, it must be said. The evidence was pretty damning.

“He didn’t wanna let me go,” I whispered.

“Well, he did. Papers signed. Months passed. It’s done. He needs to get the fuck over it and I’m gonna communicate that to him. You are not.”

“I think it’s best if I—”

I shut my mouth when he declared, “I stepped aside for him.”

Yes, actually, he did.

Ham kept talking.

And, in doing so, melting my heart.

“Didn’t want to do it, hated fuckin’ doin’ it, hated losin’ you for three years, but I did it. For you. For you to have him. So that means for him to have you. I wasn’t in the place to give you what you needed then but if I was, you made it plain, I coulda made things not so fuckin’ easy for him. I didn’t. Now you’re mine. He needs to back the fuck off.”

I loved that. All of it.

I still felt the need to protect Greg from Bruiser Ham.

“But you don’t know him, Ham. I do. And seein’ me with you had to hurt him tonight.”

“Zara, you bein’ you, actin’ like you, lookin’ like you, he’s fuckin’ lucky he hasn’t seen you with someone else long before this. And I’m not happy your life was fucked but that doesn’t change the fact I’m lucky your life was fucked so you didn’t even think about findin’ another guy or I would be fucked.”

I loved that, too. A whole lot.

That didn’t mean I didn’t keep trying.

“Let me try talkin’ to him first,” I suggested.

He weirdly cut me off with, “Babe, your clothes in my closet?”

“Yes, but—”

“They are. You’re mine. Two strikes, he doesn’t get a third. Now I’m dealin’ with him.”

“That makes me uncomfortable, Ham,” I shared.

“I get that. I get why. I get you got guilt. I get you got feelings for him. I also don’t give a fuck about him. You’re my woman out to dinner with me and he stands there in front of me and calls you his wife? No fuckin’ way. No one stakes their claim to what’s mine, not behind my back, not across a room, and especially not to my face without a conversation.”

That was when I knew I was right about Ham.

When it was no promises, no expectations, he was fair enough to give the same in return.

When there were, what was his was his and he marked his territory.

I was also right about something else.

Possessiveness was hot.

“Go easy,” I said quietly, giving in.

“We’ll start with that and see how it goes,” he replied.

I decided to leave it at that and settle in.

We were silent for a long while but I couldn’t fall asleep and I knew Ham couldn’t either, so I laid something else on my mind on him.

“I’m worried about my aunt comin’ to the table and what Dad might have to say.”

I was worried even though I suspected I knew.

I’d been waiting. Waiting for years.

That didn’t mean I wanted to know and wasn’t worried about finding out.

“Put it out of your head,” Ham ordered.

He, I knew, suspected, too.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” I admitted.

He moved his hand to my face, fingers gliding along my cheek, through my hair, and he finished by wrapping his arm around me so I was snug in both.

“You made the decision to turn your back on that, cookie. We talked it out then and I still think you did the right thing. It was either they succeeded in destroyin’ your sister or they got a shot at bringing the both of you down. They destroyed your sister. Even if it’s not done, it’s still done. We got you to the place of understandin’ that. Don’t give her the chance to drag you back in.”

He was right. He was right back then when he guided me to that decision and he was right now.

I sighed.

Ham’s arms gave me a squeeze.

“We need to finish our chat,” I told him.

“We will, baby,” he told me. “Though, not much left to say.”

At least that was good.

I pressed even closer and whispered, “I’m sorry those women treated you that way.”

“Me too,” he agreed.

“Just sayin’, serious, no joke, we have what we have now or even what we had before, if we made a baby and I was carrying it inside me, no way I’d ever let it go.”

I just got out the O sound in “go” when his arms got so tight, I was forced to slide up his chest and my lungs constricted, seeing as he was squeezing the breath out of me.

Therefore, I wheezed, “Ham.”

He pulled me up his chest, his arms relaxed, and he slid one hand into my hair, bringing my mouth down to touch it to his.

When he let me lift away, he whispered, his voice jagged, “Thank you, Zara.”

That meant a lot to him and it meaning a lot meant a lot to me, seeing as I clearly said the right thing and that was what I hoped I’d do.

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” I whispered back.

He shifted me back down his chest, his hand at my head settling my cheek back to his shoulder and ordering, “Go to sleep, baby.”

“Okay. ’Night, Ham.”

“’Night, cookie.”

I closed my eyes and tried to find sleep. After a while, I needed to move so I rolled, Ham rolled with me, bringing up his knees and mine and holding me close around my belly so we were spooning.

I felt his face in my hair and heard his voice murmur, “Softest hair I ever felt.”

I felt my lips curl up, I snuggled my ass in his groin, and then I fell asleep.