Douchebag Dan was not ecstatic (which made me more ecstatic). He’d quit his job to start his new life and now was struggling. He wanted his piece of the house and he was balking at child support. On the flipside of that, Knight’s piranha attorney wanted to assist him in finding a way where he could f**k himself and the man was a master at this task.
Douchebag Dan was screwed. Knight’s attorney was already eating him alive, taking his time, making it tortuous and enjoying every second.
So was I.
Charlene hated it being ugly and the kids were subdued in response to their Mom trying but not exactly succeeding in hiding her heartbreak. So I hid the fact I thought it was the f**king bomb that Dan was squirming. It would be over soon, she and the kids would be with people who cared about them, she had a job, the extra income from Creed’s work and Dan would be forced to bend over and grab his ankles.
All was right with that world.
It was also right in mine. Chelle had immediately agreed to Creed getting the kids more when he returned to Phoenix. He’d have them every other weekend and Tuesday night through Thursday after school each week. When we went down there last weekend, it was clear the kids were thrilled with this.
I had been right. Chelle reported to Creed that when she told Kara and Brand that she and Creed had decided they’d spend more time with their Dad, Kara thawed toward her mother. She just wanted more Creed time. Chelle giving it to her and Creed sitting them down and making it clear that was a decision he and Chelle made because he wanted to spend more time with them and Chelle wanted them to have more of their Dad made her the good guy for once.
Further, Creed finally accepting that Chelle held some guilt for the collapse of their marriage and letting go of the burden he held meant that their relationship had also changed. They didn’t phone each other every day to have a gab but the baggage weighing on them was gone. It wasn’t hard to feel the ease that generated not only between those two but the kids sensed it too.
What made really f**king good infinitely better was that Creed was, in his badass way, over the f**king moon about all of this. He’d see his kids more, shit was sorted with his ex and he was going to have me.
Never, not in my life, not once, had I seen him this relaxed and happy. I knew why but that didn’t mean he didn’t tell me that he not only had it all but he seriously got off on the fact that, for the first time in sixteen years, our future was bright.
I loved that, f**king adored that he finally had that. He was a good man. He deserved it.
So, outside the occasional nic-fit, life was good.
As for me, Creed being pushy as well as bossy meant that, twice a week, I was seeing a therapist. I’d had five appointments and the first three didn’t go so well because I thought it was hogwash. I felt that all I really needed was Creed and eventually I’d work through my shit and get on with life.
At the end of my third appointment, my therapist told me he sensed I thought it was hogwash and suggested I didn’t trust him, thus he couldn’t help me and asked me if I’d like him to refer me to someone else.
I dug his honesty and the fact that he wasn’t willing to take my money even if I was shutting him out so he’d never help me but still get paid for it.
In other words, he broke through.
The next two appointments weren’t great either but only because reliving that shit sucked.
That said, there was something about unloading it on someone objective, watching the expressions on his face mirror some of the shit I felt bottled inside, not having to worry about what I said or how I reacted hurting him or affecting him like I would if I shared it with Creed or even Knight or Charlene that was such a massive relief, it was hard to express.
What it was, was instantaneous.
After the first appointment where I shared, I left feeling almost f**king giddy. The next, the same. My doctor warned me that when I began to dig further into what happened in order to move past it, I would have times when I would not feel giddy. Where it would be difficult, draining and even painful. I got that. It was just good to know that therapy actually worked. I was in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing and it was about me and only me, unloading a huge wad of crap and I didn’t have to drag anyone I loved into it.
Not to mention, I had not had a single dream since I decided to trust my psychologist which, in and of itself, was worth the money.
So all was good in Creed and Sylvie Land. My house was sold. My shit was going to be sold. Charlene and the kids were going to be in a good place. Most of my jobs were sorted and Charlene had billed so those files could be closed. Creed’s shit was sorted. And, after tonight when hopefully we’d tie the bow on Hawk’s job, I figured I had about a week of crap to deal with then I was in my girl and driving down to Phoenix to finally, f**king, f**king finally begin my life with Creed.
I couldn’t wait.
So I wanted this done.
Now.
I lifted the martini glass I’d asked the bartender to fill with cranberry juice, took a sip, put it down and murmured into my microphone, “This dress sucks.”
“Shut it, Sylvie,” Hawk ordered in my ear.
I didn’t shut it.
I muttered, “And I’m sitting down and these shoes still hurt.”
“Quit bitchin’,” Hawk replied.
“I didn’t sign up for this crap,” I told him which was a lie. It was anything goes with my jobs and this wasn’t the first time I tricked myself out. Usually it was to be a honey trap though I didn’t take that role all the way, ever.
This time, it was different.
“You’re gettin’ paid, babe, and I bought the f**kin’ dress and shoes you get to keep. Stop moaning,” Hawk returned.
Like I would ever wear this dress again.
The shoes… that was a different story.
I didn’t tell Hawk that.
“I hope you read the fine print in my contract that says if I have to show cle**age and wear shoes with a heel over three inches, my rate doubles,” I shot back.
“Baby,” another voice came into my ear and this was my man’s, “shut the f**k up, concentrate and don’t sit there muttering into your tits makin’ it look like you’re waitin’ to f**k over some ass**le. He sees you doin’ that shit, these guys we’re hunting will take you out and tonight is not my night to lose you.”
That made me shut up and my eyes slid down the bar to take in the reflection of Creed sitting alone across the restaurant in a semi-circular booth with a martini glass in front of him too. He had his hand resting on the table next to the glass and the liquid was so high, I knew he hadn’t brought that glass to his lips.
Douchebag Dan was screwed. Knight’s attorney was already eating him alive, taking his time, making it tortuous and enjoying every second.
So was I.
Charlene hated it being ugly and the kids were subdued in response to their Mom trying but not exactly succeeding in hiding her heartbreak. So I hid the fact I thought it was the f**king bomb that Dan was squirming. It would be over soon, she and the kids would be with people who cared about them, she had a job, the extra income from Creed’s work and Dan would be forced to bend over and grab his ankles.
All was right with that world.
It was also right in mine. Chelle had immediately agreed to Creed getting the kids more when he returned to Phoenix. He’d have them every other weekend and Tuesday night through Thursday after school each week. When we went down there last weekend, it was clear the kids were thrilled with this.
I had been right. Chelle reported to Creed that when she told Kara and Brand that she and Creed had decided they’d spend more time with their Dad, Kara thawed toward her mother. She just wanted more Creed time. Chelle giving it to her and Creed sitting them down and making it clear that was a decision he and Chelle made because he wanted to spend more time with them and Chelle wanted them to have more of their Dad made her the good guy for once.
Further, Creed finally accepting that Chelle held some guilt for the collapse of their marriage and letting go of the burden he held meant that their relationship had also changed. They didn’t phone each other every day to have a gab but the baggage weighing on them was gone. It wasn’t hard to feel the ease that generated not only between those two but the kids sensed it too.
What made really f**king good infinitely better was that Creed was, in his badass way, over the f**king moon about all of this. He’d see his kids more, shit was sorted with his ex and he was going to have me.
Never, not in my life, not once, had I seen him this relaxed and happy. I knew why but that didn’t mean he didn’t tell me that he not only had it all but he seriously got off on the fact that, for the first time in sixteen years, our future was bright.
I loved that, f**king adored that he finally had that. He was a good man. He deserved it.
So, outside the occasional nic-fit, life was good.
As for me, Creed being pushy as well as bossy meant that, twice a week, I was seeing a therapist. I’d had five appointments and the first three didn’t go so well because I thought it was hogwash. I felt that all I really needed was Creed and eventually I’d work through my shit and get on with life.
At the end of my third appointment, my therapist told me he sensed I thought it was hogwash and suggested I didn’t trust him, thus he couldn’t help me and asked me if I’d like him to refer me to someone else.
I dug his honesty and the fact that he wasn’t willing to take my money even if I was shutting him out so he’d never help me but still get paid for it.
In other words, he broke through.
The next two appointments weren’t great either but only because reliving that shit sucked.
That said, there was something about unloading it on someone objective, watching the expressions on his face mirror some of the shit I felt bottled inside, not having to worry about what I said or how I reacted hurting him or affecting him like I would if I shared it with Creed or even Knight or Charlene that was such a massive relief, it was hard to express.
What it was, was instantaneous.
After the first appointment where I shared, I left feeling almost f**king giddy. The next, the same. My doctor warned me that when I began to dig further into what happened in order to move past it, I would have times when I would not feel giddy. Where it would be difficult, draining and even painful. I got that. It was just good to know that therapy actually worked. I was in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing and it was about me and only me, unloading a huge wad of crap and I didn’t have to drag anyone I loved into it.
Not to mention, I had not had a single dream since I decided to trust my psychologist which, in and of itself, was worth the money.
So all was good in Creed and Sylvie Land. My house was sold. My shit was going to be sold. Charlene and the kids were going to be in a good place. Most of my jobs were sorted and Charlene had billed so those files could be closed. Creed’s shit was sorted. And, after tonight when hopefully we’d tie the bow on Hawk’s job, I figured I had about a week of crap to deal with then I was in my girl and driving down to Phoenix to finally, f**king, f**king finally begin my life with Creed.
I couldn’t wait.
So I wanted this done.
Now.
I lifted the martini glass I’d asked the bartender to fill with cranberry juice, took a sip, put it down and murmured into my microphone, “This dress sucks.”
“Shut it, Sylvie,” Hawk ordered in my ear.
I didn’t shut it.
I muttered, “And I’m sitting down and these shoes still hurt.”
“Quit bitchin’,” Hawk replied.
“I didn’t sign up for this crap,” I told him which was a lie. It was anything goes with my jobs and this wasn’t the first time I tricked myself out. Usually it was to be a honey trap though I didn’t take that role all the way, ever.
This time, it was different.
“You’re gettin’ paid, babe, and I bought the f**kin’ dress and shoes you get to keep. Stop moaning,” Hawk returned.
Like I would ever wear this dress again.
The shoes… that was a different story.
I didn’t tell Hawk that.
“I hope you read the fine print in my contract that says if I have to show cle**age and wear shoes with a heel over three inches, my rate doubles,” I shot back.
“Baby,” another voice came into my ear and this was my man’s, “shut the f**k up, concentrate and don’t sit there muttering into your tits makin’ it look like you’re waitin’ to f**k over some ass**le. He sees you doin’ that shit, these guys we’re hunting will take you out and tonight is not my night to lose you.”
That made me shut up and my eyes slid down the bar to take in the reflection of Creed sitting alone across the restaurant in a semi-circular booth with a martini glass in front of him too. He had his hand resting on the table next to the glass and the liquid was so high, I knew he hadn’t brought that glass to his lips.
