Fractured Affections (The Affections Series Book 1) by Elizabeth Wills Page B

then he forcefully pushes from the wall to head to the guest room. Once I hear his door shut, I let my body slide down the wall and bury my face in my hands. I never expected an argument between Striker and me. Especially since Dalton just left days ago. How is this supposed to work? I have tried to keep my distance for a reason. We have too much history, too much unsettled business that I would rather lay buried.
    I pick myself off the floor and make my way down the hall toward Striker’s closed bedroom door. I tiptoe as quietly as I can, and then lean my ear against the wood, straining to hear something from the other side. I start to give up after a few minutes of nothing, but just as I’m about to walk away, I can make out the faint sound of Striker crying. I place my palm flat against his door and close my eyes. Dalton was right. The man on the other side of this door is hurting. I can feel my heart break as I continue to listen.
    I have to do as Dalton asked of me. Tomorrow will be the day that I completely forgive Striker. The anger he displayed tonight was a reflection of the pain he feels inside. I know that pain. I used it to lash out after Striker left. I don’t want to see him like that again. No one deserves to feel that way. I was always Striker’s freedom from that hurt, but who does he turn to now?
    I feel a slight pang of jealousy as I realize that he is probably committed to someone else, by now. With this realization, I’m disappointed with myself because I shouldn’t care who he is with, or what he does with his personal life. I’m happily married and the mother to three boys. I need to head back to my room and clear my head of this moment.
     
    *****
     
    It took a little while to fall asleep last night, but I awoke this morning with a new determination. Why can’t I learn to be friends with Striker again? I think I may need this just as much as he does. Repeating last night is not an option. It was one of the scariest moments of my life, and I hate how Striker was the cause.
    I return home from getting the boys to school and start a fresh pot of coffee. Trying to compromise, I decide to cook breakfast. I’m thinking greasy is the way to go since he had a night out at the bar, and from my experience, the greasier the better. Sausage and eggs sound like a good choice. I have just enough for the two of us. Things take a little bit longer to accomplish because my finger is wrapped and throbbing. I’m just about finished when I hear a chair slide out from breakfast bar.
    “Good morning, Striker, how did you sleep?”
    I don’t get a response, so I turn around with his plate in my hand and am met with a puzzled look on Striker’s face. I try not to stand and stare, but his hair is messy in a sexy way, and he is sitting in front of me with no shirt on. Holy shit! I may be in trouble. I expected him to be in great shape, but he is beyond that. His arms are folded across the counter making his biceps bulge, and his chest is sculpted and smooth. He is covered with beautiful tattoos that are hard to make out from this distance. Curiosity courses through me. I want to study them in detail. My eyes betray me; traveling down his stomach to find abs that would be a joy to run my hands over.
    I quickly snap myself out of my haze and walk over to place his breakfast on the counter in front of him.
    “Would you like some coffee?” I say, after clearing my throat.
    “Um, yeah, sure would. Thank you,” he replies, still sounding a little unsure of the situation.
    “I know you wanted to go out to breakfast, so I thought I would compromise and make you breakfast here. I hope you’re hungry,” I say, while trying to smile.
    Striker reaches for the plate, moving it closer to him, and then takes a bite of his sausage. After watching him eat for a moment, I turn away and begin to clean up the dishes. I can feel the blush creep up my neck from my embarrassment after staring.
    “Rea? Could you please come sit