THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,163

enough because it’s only a matter of time now. Pulling wet panties to the side, I slide two fingers into her and new verses come to mind.

Ol’ Stevey Warner is a fucked up man

No one has a clue about his master plan

He’s been in love with a woman for most of his life

And that chick has always been someone else’s wife.

I groan. Luckily, it’s timed well because Cass just wrapped her soft hands around my dick.

CHAPTER TWO

Morganna

“THERE IS NO way in hell that man is getting anywhere near you, Penny,” I tell my client. She has a crazy ass husband she’s trying to get rid of with a true fiery passion. I glance around to make sure everything is in place and nothing needs straightening as she chatters away about all of her husband’s mistresses and all the times he hit her. This is an easy case. He hit her. There’s photo evidence. He cheated. There’s photo evidence. The guy might as well hop the train to asshole, wife-beater town and check his wallet with the conductor. To say I’m confident about this case is an understatement. I’ve taken on several cases like this in the past and they’ve all ended the same—in my favor.

“He promised to make my life a living hell, Ms. Sterns. Of course I’m going to worry! I’ll probably even worry after the divorce is final,” Penelope admits, her lip trembling. I agreed to meet her in my home office at six a.m. She’s the epitome of worried and paranoid.

Steven won’t be coming over until at least nine. He worked late, so I’m sure he’s going to sleep in a little bit. And God knows which woman he spent his time with last night. One and two seem to tire him more so than number three. As soon as I think it, I realize how messed up it is that I know this private information about him.

I know a lot of things about him. We’re friends. He’s been there for me. When my husband Stone passed away, Steven was a bittersweet reminder of everything. Good memories and tragic, depressing memories always sneak in when I spend a lot of time with Steven. Eventually, I decided that it’s worth it to have his friendship and his humor included in my life.

I lay a hand on Penny’s forearm. “You are a successful physician. He lost his job a year ago. Don’t worry about your money. Don’t worry about your safety. I promise everything is going to be okay.” I smile and, with what I think is a reassuring gesture, pat her arm. “I’m going to nail his ass to the wall in court.” I nod. Convincing someone of something is almost an art form. Especially if you don’t know one hundred percent it’s going to work out. “The detective got amazing photos of him with one of the women. Remember that?”

At the mention of her safety, I imagine sending one of The Guys to stake out her house. Let that philandering, wife beating devil run into one of those men. Bodies like brick walls and personalities that morph in any situation. They are breathing, brawny, true blue heroes or villains—whichever you desire at a particular time.

I smile tightly through the pang in my chest. It’s how I’ve learned to cope with losing my husband. Smile through the pain. Laugh through the grief. Thrive in the throes of emptiness. It’s a catch twenty-two because the SEAL community is still my community, regardless of my late husband’s breathing status. I’ll never leave the friends and family I’ve made here in Virginia Beach or in San Diego where this all started so many years ago.

It doesn’t make it any easier to think about Stone. He was the great love of my life. Living without him is the largest challenge I’ve ever taken on. I miss him every second he’s not here, but life doesn’t stop. Tragedy doesn’t halt the future. It propels you into it with a brand new outlook. You suck it up. You smile. You go on.

I feel pride that he died saving his best friend, Maverick’s life. He wouldn’t be the man I married if he didn’t. It still doesn’t negate the fact that he left me with a massive sized hole in every aspect of my life. I didn’t function for the first few months after he died. I was left with the decision to push forward through the grief, or to wallow in self-pity and blame.

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