In Love With My Bully-Chapter 80: Losing More

We headed back out to the car, regret heavy in my chest. I shouldn’t have asked her that. Nita wasn’t someone I could turn to for comfort like a floozy, not when she had always been more than that. Not when she deserved more than that.

"I know you’re hurting, but you have to apologize to Martin," she said softly.

"Only if you let me drive this time." I stretched out my hand for the keys, trying for lightness in the midst of the sadness that enveloped us.

She rolled her eyes. "Promise not to kill us? Queen will be without parents," she teased.

I exhaled sharply. "You know what? Go on. Drive. Apparently, everything I do hurts everyone around me."

She didn’t hesitate, just threw the keys at me. I caught them in the air.

"Stop thinking that way."

I slid into the driver’s seat while she got in beside me. The weight of the day pressed down on me.

"It feels like a dream," I admitted, gripping the steering wheel. "How do I even begin to deal with this? I spent my entire life blaming her for my sister’s death when all along, she was trying to protect her. Every decision she made, everything she did, it was for this family." I exhaled shakily. "How do we make it without her? My dad..."

Nita shifted closer, the warmth of her presence wrapping around me before her fingers gently touched my face, turning me toward her.

"Abby left behind an amazing son," she whispered. "She taught you to be strong, Richard. Make her proud."

Her palm was soft against my cheek. I leaned into it instinctively, pressing her hand into my skin as though I could absorb the comfort she offered.

She was still here. Still standing by me, even after everything. Even after she thought I didn’t want her.

I saw the moment her gaze dipped to my lips. The hesitation was in her face, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved closer, just slightly. But that was all the permission I needed.

I closed the distance, pressing my lips to hers.

The grief inside me, the guilt, the pain—they all faded under the warmth of her mouth. She was the pleasure I had lost and didn’t deserve to reclaim.

I thought she would pull away. I braced for it. Counted the seconds in my head. Five. Ten. But she didn’t.

And then, just like that, I lost control.

See, that’s the thing with Nita. She wasn’t just a woman I wanted. She was the one I couldn’t resist. The one who made logic disappear from a room in an instant.

I shifted, pulling her onto my lap, the space inside the car suddenly too small, too restricting. She gasped softly, and I swallowed the sound, tilting my seat back to give us more room. I took her dress off, maneuvered my fingers through her underwear, and found the warmth of her folds, wet and waiting.

She moaned and arched into me, her breath shaky.

God, she was beautiful. The way she responded to me, the way her body spoke, and the way she would bite her lips. She still didn’t know how to accept her passion quietly. The guards were professional; we wouldn’t be bothered, but for fuck’s sakes, it shouldn’t be an announcement.

I placed my hand on her stomach and pushed her gently backward until her back pressed on the steering wheel to give me more access inside her. To watch her better, to see her come undone as beautifully as she always did.

But then she caught my wrist, stopping me.

"No," she breathed, her voice uneven.

I stilled, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to rein myself in. Disappointment hit hard, but I didn’t move. If she wanted me to stop, I would. Always.

But then, she shifted again, and I felt her fingers at my belt buckle.

"This changes nothing," she murmured, almost to herself.

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe we would go back to pretending we didn’t love each other tomorrow. But right now, in this moment, I didn’t care.

I nodded like a fool as she pulled me free. If she had asked me for the moon right then, I would have switched careers and found a way to give it to her.

She positioned herself over me, teasing, her movements slow and deliberate. I clenched my jaw, gripping her hips as she eased down, just a little, before pulling away again.

I groaned, barely holding on.

She smirked. She knew exactly what she was doing.

After a few more torturous movements, I gave in. The next time she lowered herself, I guided her down completely, both of us gasping as she took me in fully.

The connection sent a shockwave through me, a perfect collision of pleasure.

She moved slowly at first, then faster, our bodies falling into a rhythm that made the car rock with each motion. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold on, to stretch this moment, to keep her here with me just a little longer.

But there was no stopping the inevitable.

She trembled in my arms, her breathing erratic, her body tightening around mine. The sound she made sent me over the edge, and I buried my face against her, muffling my own release between her breasts as the last of my control shattered.

*****

When I saw my father clutch my mother’s lifeless hand in the hospital room, my heart broke for him. Not just as a son grieving his mother or watching his indefatigable father crumble, but as a man watching another lose the love of his life.

No one could pull him away.

Not the doctors. Not the nurses. Not even Nita’s father, who had tried and failed. My father was a man made of stone and steel, but tonight, he was nothing more than a broken soul refusing to let go.

I was hurting too. The grief was raw and unrelenting, but we needed to let her go. And somehow, with my newfound strength, Nita having a hand in that, I knew I had to be the one to help him.

He sat stiffly beside the hospital bed, staring blankly at the wall, his fingers laced tightly with hers. His knuckles were white as if letting her go meant losing himself completely.

I looked into my mother’s face, beautiful even in death. An angel had been taken from us, and we would never be the same.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Dad?"

He didn’t respond.

I stepped closer, my voice quieter this time. "Dad... please. They have to take her."

His head turned toward me, and when our eyes met, I saw nothing but pain.

"You too?" His voice was hoarse from keeping his sobs down. "You too? She is your mother, Richard. Why would you want her taken away?"

My throat tightened. "Only for a short while, Dad. And then we can lay her to rest."

He shook his head slowly, his grip tightening on her hand. His thumb brushed over her wedding ring, a silent, desperate plea for her to wake up, for this to be a mistake, for time to rewind to when she was still here.

"I always thought I would die before her," he whispered, his voice fragile in a way I had never heard before. "Even with her Alzheimer’s, she was strong. Fierce. You could barely tell. She held everything together. And now, I’ve lost my girls. Rachel first... and now my Abby."

Tears welled in my eyes before they spilled over. I had spent so many years resenting my mother, misunderstanding her, pushing her away, only to realize too late how much she had sacrificed.

I took another step closer. "I know it’s not the same, Dad, but you still have two little girls. Queen and Chayara. Remember?"

He let out a bitter chuckle. "My past came back to haunt me so badly that it burned everything in its wake," he said, voice raw. "And it took the one innocent in all of this. She had nothing to do with any of it. But I—I was the one who had the affair. I was the one who had a child in secret. I was the one who lied to her, who told her to accept Chayara as her grandchild. I should be the one lying here."

The weight of his confession hit me like a punch to the gut. He had never said it out loud before.

His guilt was consuming him.

I clenched my fists. "Dad, I wanted to fight for Chayara, not you."

He exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "If you hadn’t, I would have." His voice trembled. "I won’t make the same mistake twice. I won’t let my grandchild be manipulated by those callous minds." His jaw tightened. "But if I knew that decision would cost me Abby..." He trailed off, shaking his head as fresh pain tore through him.

Silence stretched between us.

Then I took a deep breath. "Dad, we have to let her go."

He closed his eyes, blocking out the reality before him. His shoulders shook as he drew in a shuddering breath.

And then, slowly, he let go of her hand.

The moment their fingers unthreaded, his body sagged. His own hands fell to the sides, drained of life too. I knew a fraction of what he was feeling. My wife’s life had been threatened more times than I can count. I had seen her crash in an accident while in labor.

"I’ll handle the funeral," he said, his voice suddenly detached. "You need to be prepared for court on Friday."

I hesitated. "About that, Dad..." I met his gaze, gathering the strength to say the words I had been wrestling with. "I’m not fighting anymore. They can have Chayara."

His head snapped toward me so fast I thought he might break his neck. His eyes flashed anger and pain. But it was my decision.