Luke's Absolution (The Colloway Brothers Book 3) (21 page)

“Then, I was summoned to his house and essentially taken into the fold. Not something you’re really at liberty to say no to unless you want to end up at the bottom of the Charles River, which I did not. Fuck, I’ve gone back and replayed that day a million times wishing I had kept my mouth shut.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been there to save Livvy.”

“I know,” I tell him quietly. It’s a catch-22 of epically fucked-up proportions.

I finish the beer sitting in front me, palming the cold one and continue, wanting to just vomit it all now. “Six months later, the FBI, which had been watching Peter Wilder for well over a year, approached me. They managed to find out who I really was and in exchange for any inside intel that would help put Peter behind bars, they would wipe away all pending charges, plus I would have immunity for anything that happened until they could take that masochistic fucker down. Then I’d go into the WITSEC program.”

“Shit. Are you serious?” I would laugh at the incredulous look on Gray’s face if I thought any of this was fucking funny. As it is, I don’t. It was sheer, torturous hell. A tightrope walk that I balanced every goddamn day. It took cunning and an incredible sixth sense to keep my ass alive and that of Livia’s when she was brought into the sick, twisted game, changing the rules completely.

“Dead.”

“They had to have known about Livia, then? If you were working with the FBI?”

I nodded, my stomach madly churning with a mixture of acid and hatred so thick it was cloying sometimes.

Gray’s face was a mask of pure fury. “And they didn’t do a fucking thing to help her? Save her?”

“No. It would have ‘jeopardized years of undercover work and wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars of taxpayer’s money.’” I lowered my voice and air quoted the death sentence the senior agent prick, Billings, essentially gave Livia when I asked for help. For some reason, this was an intensely personal vendetta to Billings and he wasn’t going to let anyone or anything jeopardize his mission. Sometimes I thought he was worse than Peter.

“So you took matters into your own hands.”

I hold his stare. This is where I step off. The exact details of what I did will never be known by another. “Official death certificate says stroke. Fucker had a bad heart. Ate like shit, smoked, drank too much, was under constant stress. It was all finally too much for his weakened organ to handle, I guess.”

“I guess,” he nods. “And the FBI?”

“They saved taxpayer money that would have been spent on a trial, but were able to take down over thirty men for various crimes and ended up with some very damning information on a syndicate family. I would say they thought it was a win. And they honored their end of the deal.”

Quite frankly, that’s all I fucking cared about. Billings was convinced I had something to do with Peter’s early demise, but Dimitri, Peter’s son, refused an autopsy so there was never any evidence. Dimitri hated his father with a passion, so if he suspected anything, well…he showed me his gratitude by making sure it was known I wasn’t to be touched. Ever. His gratitude probably had something to do with the fact I also foiled an attempt on
his
life three years earlier. Along with our shared hatred for his father, it was enough to cement our bond. Either way, it didn’t matter. I was finally fucking free for the first time in years.

“Jesus Christ, Luke. I had no idea.”

“Not exactly how I had my life planned out, you know?” I tip my bottle, drinking about half of the contents in two large gulps. Fuck, I could use about a dozen shots right now. Oblivion is sounding more and more appealing, even at three in the afternoon. I don’t like to think about those days, let alone talk about them.

For the thousandth time since I set my sights on Addy, I berate myself for being so fucking selfish that I can’t let her go. Guilt and doubt mix together to corrode my insides, making me nauseous. I’m sick with worry that if she ever finds out about this part of me, she’ll leave. Walk out the fucking door with her middle finger in the air and hate in her heart. It would ruin me. I would once again plunge into the darkness and this time, I’d have no hope of seeing the light ever again.

Gray’s quiet for a few beats. “What happened to make you go sideways anyway? I could never work that out. I thought we were both on the same path to take over Dad’s business. It’s like some switch was flipped or something. One day we were best friends; the next, you were withdrawn from everyone.”

Before I can skirt around a question I have absolutely no intention of answering, my boisterous younger brothers approach the table. I see Ash pocketing a few bills. I chuckle, hoping that knocked Conn down a couple pegs.

“I’m ready to blow this joint. I miss my fiancée,” Ash announces.

“She’s got that string tied pretty tight, Ash. You sure the blood flow’s not being cut off?” Conn teases mercilessly.

Ash takes it all in stride, not missing a beat. “Blood’s pumping just fine, asshole. Sounds like jealousy talking, if you ask me.”

“Jealousy? Not fucking likely. I like things just the way they are, fuck you very much.”

Ash laughs. “Right. I’m counting the days until I meet the woman who will finally bring the almighty playboy Connelly James Colloway to his knees. It will be a humbling experience for you, brother, and you could use a good dose of humility.”

“Not gonna happen. A wife and kids are not in my fifty-year plan.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

“Fucking A. You’re on. What do you want?”

“Deed to the land you own on the lake.”

Conn actually looks shocked. “You want the deed to a piece of land in Lake Forest valued at over a million dollars?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck off. I’m not betting that.”

“You sound worried.”

“I’m not.”

“Then it’s settled.” Asher’s hand is now hanging in the air, eyes challenging Conn to accept.

“Fine.” Conn grasps Ash’s hand. “But just so you know, I don’t plan on losing.”

Antsy to leave, I finish my brew and stand, throwing two bills on the table that will more than cover our cheap drinks, plus leave
Candi
a nice tip.

“See, you’re thinking about it all wrong, Conn,” I pipe in, trying to give him some brotherly advice. “Your overpriced plot is just dirt and trees and rocks. Won’t keep you warm at night, won’t make you laugh, won’t fill your soul with something that’s indescribable. Finding that elusive woman who will plug holes you didn’t know you had in ways you can’t possibly comprehend is fucking priceless. And I guarantee when you find her, you’d give up every last thing you own to make her yours.”

Then I turn and head toward the exit, trying not to laugh at the stunned looks on my three brothers’ faces.

Don’t look so surprised, either. I can be deep when I want to be.

T
he noise is almost deafening
when we walk through the front door. I hear women laughing and talking, each raising their octaves to be heard above the others. Classic females.

When we walk into the kitchen, I immediately spot Addy sitting on the couch in the living room, but she doesn’t see me because she’s too busy oohing and aahing over all the baby stuff that’s now littering the carpet.

For what seems like an eternity, I stand and absorb her stunning beauty, letting her mere presence calm my ragged soul. She’s
so
exquisite, both inside and out, I sometimes feel a sharp pang in the center of my chest when I look at her, when I realize she’s
really
mine now. I unconsciously lift my fist to my ribcage, rubbing back and forth.

Today she’s wearing a short-sleeve pale pink dress with buttons that run down the entire center. She’s kicked her shoes off somewhere and I notice she’s painted both her fingernails and toenails a few shades darker than her outfit. She’s talking animatedly with her hands as she always does. Some days I wonder if she’ll actually take flight because she’s moving them so damn fast.

Somehow I managed to drink six beers in less than two hours, which has my mind fucking buzzing. The heaviness I constantly carry around has gotten denser, especially after Gray’s and my downer discussion about years I would just as soon scrub from my mind. Another reason I don’t generally drink much beyond a couple of beers. It just depresses the fuck out of me.

But just one look at Addy has me feeling marginally lighter. It’s the exact same feeling I got when I first saw her. The heaviness dissipates just by looking at her. It goes away almost completely when she’s in my arms and Jesus, do I need to hold her right now.

What Gray said earlier made a helluva lot of sense, although it doesn’t take away the fact I made a conscious decision to end a human life. I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself for that, regardless of the reasons. But I try. Every day, I try.

I remind myself every single time I look at Livia and see her growing belly that I made the only decision I possibly could. When I see her laugh, her smile, her happiness. I remind myself every time I see Gray look at her with so much love in his eyes, it would almost be sickening if you didn’t know their tragic love story.

I watch Asher and Gray go to their women, tug them close, kiss them. I watch Addy watch them before her eyes scan the room, searching for me. When they land on mine, I kid you not, I see sunbeams from heaven rain down on her at the brilliant smile she gifts me with.

Christ…I am so gone for her and I don’t care who knows it.

I lean against the kitchen wall as everyone starts filing in, including Addy. It’s chaos for a few minutes as the women attending the party start parading out two by two, like Noah’s ark animals. Why is it women go everywhere in pairs? Makes no fucking sense to me.

Finally, the only people left are family. And Addy, who, for all intents and purposes, is family to me. It won’t be too long before I make it officially so, either. I already know that. I simply cannot live without her.

Standing across the room, she looks at me thoughtfully, trying to split her attention between my mother and me, who’s talking her ear off about something. Then I see her pat my mom on the arm, leaning in close to say something. My mother looks my way and smiles brightly before Addy heads in my direction.

She stops in front of me and I don’t resist for another second. I yank her into me, squeezing tight, my hand palming her head. The tension I’ve carried since I saw her last fades and I feel like I can take a full breath.

I do.

I breathe deeply, taking her soothing scent into my lungs and holding it there before I slowly let it out. I do it again and again, each time feeling the pressure melt away more. I feel six sets of eyes on us, but I keep mine shut and my nose buried in her hair, which smells citrusy today instead of her usual vanilla.

“What’s wrong, babe?” she whispers, holding me just as close, fingers caressing my spine. I don’t think I can articulate how fucking fantastic it feels to have someone so in tune with you she knows something’s wrong just by looking at you. I’m the master of emotional avoidance, but that façade just doesn’t work with her and this is the only time in my life I’m glad for it.

“I need you, Addy,” I tell her on a strained breath. I’m not talking about sex. Right now, I mean that statement in a much broader context than she realizes. I need her like I need fresh air or clean water. She’s life.

“You have me, Luke,” she replies so only I can hear. The shadows recede a bit more, my lungs feeling less constricted by the second. Pulling out of my arms, she twines our fingers together. “Show me around?”

My brows furrow until she winks, tugging my hand.

“Outside. Your mom was telling me about the grounds and the little lake over the hill.”

“Ah, yeah. Sure. Okay.”

Addy turns to my mom. “Is it okay if I steal your son for a while?”

My mom’s eyes sparkle so brightly you’d think I just announced our engagement. I would laugh if I weren’t wound so fucking tight. “Absolutely, dear. Take your time. Have fun, you two.”

“Thanks, Barb.”

We exit the kitchen, hand in hand, my siblings watching our retreating backs, and I decide that fate herself couldn’t have picked a better woman for me—Addy knows exactly what I need.

And right now…all I need is her. Just her.

I
t’s a very
nice early April afternoon in Detroit, with temps soaring into the upper sixties, so I leave my sweater on the coatrack, hoping it won’t be chilly by the lake. I slide on my ballet shoes before opening the front door, never letting Luke’s hand leave mine. I’m not exactly sure what’s wrong with him, but I feel as if he may slip away from me without physical contact. I don’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

We walk side by side in silence down the cobblestone path that winds from the front to the side of the massive Colloway estate. I have to say, I was stunned that Barb lives in a six-bedroom, seven-bath house by herself. When we stood alone on the porch in a stolen moment and I asked her about it, she said they’d have to drag her out of here in a body bag.

“This isn’t just a house, my dear, it’s a home. My husband’s blood, sweat, and tears bought this home. We raised our family here, had countless holidays and birthday parties here. My boys learned to fish in that lake over there.

“When he was thirteen, Connelly stood in that driveway, shooting hoops for hours, trying to perfect his free throw. Asher broke his arm when he was ten jumping off this very roof onto a trampoline. Stupid boy. Gray had his first kiss at fourteen right here on this front porch, and there’s still a little dent in the garage door where Luke made his younger brothers stand while he threw a Frisbee at them. I think he was all of nine at the time.

“Laughter, tears, love, heartache, and memories are woven into the very fabric that make up this foundation and I will never let it go. They may not live here any longer, but it will always be my boys’ home and I could never sell their childhood,” she said.

She was so passionate, it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve never seen the love of a mother so strong for her family, her children, than Barb Colloway’s and it shot a pang of envy through me that Luke has her. I want one of her for my very own.

“What’s this?” I ask when we finally stop in front of a small house disconnected from the main house, about fifty yards away.

“The guest house,” he answers curtly. Guess he’s still in a mood. He bends down and picks up what looks like a rock; it’s one of those fake ones you keep a spare key in. I admire the flex of his ass when he leans over. He looks deliciously edible today in his ripped, dark wash jeans and pale blue tee. He cut his hair last week and while it’s still long, it’s not long enough to pull back anymore. It looks more unruly than usual.

“You have a guest house?”

“I don’t, but my mom does.”

“Does anyone ever stay here?” I ask while he unlocks the door, ushering me in.

“They used to. My dad’s brother and his family used to stay all the time when we were kids. Then for some reason when I was about sixteen, they just stopped coming, so it wasn’t used a lot after that. Doubt it gets used much anymore, though. Mom probably has guests stay in the house.”

He closes the door behind us and I look around. The space is relatively small but very nice. Very homey. To our right is a fairly decent-sized kitchen with bay windows overlooking the wooded backyard. Padded benches line three windowed walls and a square oak table sits in the middle. What a lovely place for breakfast.

Straight ahead is the main living area, with lightly used brown leather furniture and a big-screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace. The bookshelves are filled to the brim with what looks to be old encyclopedias. There are floor-to-ceiling windows in this room, letting in plenty of light. To the far right is a hallway where I assume there is a bedroom or two.

“It looks clean.” And smells good. I expected musty if it doesn’t get used much.

“Mom hires someone to care for the grounds and they make sure to keep this clean and air it out occasionally. She always wants to be ready in case she needs it,” his tight voice replies from behind me.

I spin to see Luke leaning against the closed door, arms crossed, with a pensive look on his face. His eyes search mine as if he’s expecting me to bolt any second. This is not at all the self-assured man who has pursued me relentlessly the past month. I see the pain in him as clearly as if he were standing here openly bleeding at my feet, the agony lapping angrily at my ankles like a rising tide. I wish like hell I knew what put it there.

His demons have escaped and I hate them. I hate what they’re doing to him, how they’re tormenting him. I want to slay them all so their black souls blanket the ground and burn to ash in the morning sun, leaving him with nothing but purity. Nothing but peace. I want him never to look like this again because it shreds my very soul to see him so clearly hurting and…doubting.
That’s it.
It’s doubt I see swirling in his distressed eyes.

It’s then I know exactly what Luke needs and he couldn’t have brought me to a better place. I don’t know what happened to bring on this brooding mood; I do know how to get rid of it, however. This wasn’t at all my intention when I left the house, but it’s clearly what he needs.

Holding his gaze, I reach for the top button on my dress and slowly undo it before moving to the next one. His hazels drop to my hands, his jaw now ticking. I watch the bulge in his pants expand like one of those sponge animals dipped in a glass of water. I undo enough so my cleavage is exposed before I stop and drop my hands to my sides, causing his now heated eyes to snap back to mine.

“Change your mind?” he drawls, his eyes narrowing in challenge.

Oooohhh. Bad, bad Luke.

I ignore his sparring words, forging ahead with my plan. “No.” Deep breath. “Tell me what you want. What to do.”

“What are you doing, fireball?” he breathes, pushing off the door yet not making a move toward me. His muscles are tightly coiled. He’s fighting his animal instinct to pounce and devour and claim. All three of which I want and will even encourage.

“Giving you control. Knocking those damn demons off your back, Luke. Let me help you carry them. Please.”

Two seconds flat is all it takes for him to close the distance between us and slant his mouth perfectly on mine. He’s not gentle and he’s not loving as he spins me and shoves my back against the door he just vacated, pinning me tight, surrounding me. He wholly consumes me, taking what he needs, what I want him to have, his tongue demanding entry while his lips bruise mine. He harshly drags my plump bottom lip between his teeth and I gasp before he moves back in to swallow it, own it.

He tastes like beer and passion and desperation.

Then his mouth is dragging across my jaw, my neck, nipping my ear. The harshness of his breath scatters over my heated flesh, making me dizzy with need, crazy with want. I pant as his hips thrust against my lower belly and I lift my leg to wrap around him, needing to align us better. Our bodies are writhing against each other like we’re trying to crawl into the other’s skin. I want to. I want to crawl inside of him so I can fight those rancid beasts for him from the inside, freeing him at last.

“Addy, Addy, Addy,” he whispers brokenly as he makes his way across my collarbone and down to the swell of my breasts. “I love you. Christ, I love you so fucking much.”

I still, my hands clutched in his hair. I’m breathless and clearly have a little wax buildup, because I couldn’t possibly have heard what I just thought I did. “What?”

As if what he said weren’t the most important three words ever said to another person in the history of life, my incorrigible man intentionally slows his movements, but keeps his mouth pressed to me, traveling back up the opposite side. I feel like it takes him an hour. All the while, I’m freaking out inside, trying to think of every word that could rhyme with love: glove, dove, above, shove.

There aren’t many, at least that I can think of in the time it takes him to hum cockily, “You heard me, fireball. Don’t pretend you didn’t.” My breath catches when his teeth clamp my lobe gently, tugging it through like he did my lip earlier.

“God, Luke…” We’re both now perfectly still, except for our erratic breathing and my racing mind.

His lips hover at my ear as he pours his heart out and tears of pure joy flow. (Mine, of course). “I love you, Addy Catherine Monroe. I love every fucking thing about you. I love your clever wit and your wicked tongue. I love your crazy and your messy and your stubborn. I love your mad kitchen skills and your lack of movie knowledge. I love your big heart, your loyalty, and your blinding inner beauty.”

I’m almost full-on sobbing now when he draws back and looks deep into my watery, blurry eyes. “I love the way your fire burns bright in your eyes and in the very depths of your being. But mostly I love how you
get
me,
see
me,
know
me. Know exactly what I need. I love how my soul feels at rest around you and
only
you and how everything that was dull before is brilliantly colorful now. And I love that you make me feel I can actually be good enough for someone like you even when I know I’m not.”

It’s hard to swallow. All the words I want to say back are stuck in the middle of my throat. He reaches up, wiping my trails of happiness away, and as we stare at each other, I’m sure I’ve never seen another person as vulnerable as Luke is right now.

I let a ghost of smile curve my lips. “So you love me, huh?”

Luke’s eyes momentarily flare before he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, Addy, I think we need to find something to do with that smart mouth of yours.”

Before I know it, I’m being thrown over his shoulder and carted off like I’m being kidnapped by a medieval warrior to be used as his sex slave for the night.
Ooohhh
…I hope there are ropes involved.