them to receive a delivery, but if we can’t gain information any other way, this is our best bet.
“I’ll make it happen.”
I arrive home just after 8:00 p.m. that night. Later than I preferred, but it couldn’t be helped. Preparing the coke we received today for sale, finalising the run to deliver it, and taking care of other club business kept me busy.
“Hey,” Birdie greets me when I walk into the kitchen where she’s loading the dishwasher.
I run my eyes over her as I rest my hip against the kitchen counter. Folding my arms, I ask, “How was your day?”
She stops what she’s doing for a moment, studying me, before continuing with the dishwasher. “The massage I had was heaven. I just came home after that and watched TV all afternoon. It was a quiet day.”
Birdie isn’t a woman who spends hours watching television. However, IVF has forced her to give up most of her exercise so I figure TV is a good option. Still, I struggle with this change. Hell, I’m fucking struggling with most of this shit.
She closes the dishwasher and looks at me. “Your dinner is in the oven. Do you want it now or after your shower?”
“I’ll get it. You go sit.” I don’t want her running after me; I want her resting.
“You left before six this morning and have been gone all day and half the night. Let me do this for you.”
Not wanting to stir her up, I nod. “I’ll have a quick shower while you heat it up.”
Leaving her, I head into our bedroom and take a shower. Another long one while I try to work some heat into my tight muscles. It’s been a week since I’ve hit the gym in our garage or gone for a run, and I’m feeling it. And since sex has been mostly stripped from our relationship, my other form of working tension from my body is off the table. I need to get some time in the gym tomorrow.
A call comes through as I step out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I grab my phone and answer it after seeing Javier Torres’s name on the screen.
“I take it you’re calling to give me the news I want,” I say, my shoulders tightening even further. Dealing with Torres has become one of my least favourite jobs.
His voice comes on the line, cold as ever. “You’ll have the price agreed on.”
“With no further threats of it being upped?”
“Correct.”
I exhale the breath that dealing with his bullshit has trapped inside me all day. “Don’t fucking pull this shit again, Torres.” My eyes cut to the doorway as Birdie enters the bedroom. “I won’t play this game another time if you do.”
The call ends without another word from him. Throwing the phone on the bed, I make my way into the walk-in robe to find some clothes. “I’ll be out for dinner in a minute,” I say to Birdie.
Locating a T-shirt and sweat pants, I turn to go dress in the bedroom where Birdie’s quietly staring at me. “You good, angel?”
“I’m good, but you’re not.”
Ditching the towel on the bed, I pull my pants on. “I’m tired.”
“It’s more than that, Winter. I’m worried about you.”
I don’t want to discuss Johnson’s death with her. Not when she’s dealing with the wait on these eggs. And not when my mind is as dark as it is. Fuck, I don’t want to talk about anything tonight. I just want to be with her. To have her touch. She knew what I needed last night, and while I don’t expect the same tonight, I need the same understanding that discussing my shit isn’t going to make me feel better. “Can we not do this tonight?”
She flinches at my tone, but being the Birdie she is, she doesn’t fully take it in. She keeps going. “When would you like to do it? I mean, you came home last night in bad shape and you’ve done pretty much the same tonight. You’re not yourself at all—”
“Fuck, that’s being dramatic. I’ve got shit going on, yes, but I—”
“It’s not being dramatic.” She moves closer to me, the fight brewing in her eyes. “Tell me, when was the last time you came home and didn’t kiss me or put your hands on me like you did tonight?”
The only answer I have for her is that I’ve never come home and not touched her. I didn’t even realise that’s what I did tonight. Fuck.