Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)

Chapter 8

Brynley

I don’t think I’ve ever woken up sober on my bedroom floor.

Though…does this really count?

It’s not exactly my bedroom floor so much as the one I’ve been occupying while trying to figure out who the fuck I am.

I mean…who I am now.

This…person I became.

This…individual who somehow has a career in her field of study, goes to expensive concerts, private dinners, donates to charities, chats with royalty, shops like designers need her endorsement, is besties with celebrities, maintains healthy relationships with her family, actively participates in her son’s life, and is a doting wife that’s dynamite in the sack.

Alright so, the dynamite in the sack part isn’t new.

I’ve always been pretty good in bed.

And open to making men better.

However, I don’t remember being this level of flexible.

Pretty sure I had only seen some of the moves we pulled off last night in porn.

Gently propping my chin on my husband’s bare chest reveals to me his still passed out nature.

GeneRoddenberry only knows how weird of a thing that actually is for me – of all Trekkies – have.

It was one thing when it was cute and flirty and more of a maybe I can work with this so-called forgotten information, but it was a “gone where I’ve never gone before” when reality really set in.

When I had to be fucking moved because there’s a threat on my life for some unknown reason.

When I was trapped like a prisoner in a transplanted hospital room until a second opinion could confirm what the first had already said about my brain trauma.

When I learned that I had had a miscarriage I needed to mourn for but couldn’t, a son I needed to be hugging but wouldn’t, an entire life waiting for me to get back to yet shouldn’t because I knew absolutely nothing about it.

And the worst part?

Knowing that there’s a chance I could remember but won’t.

The sheer possibility that I may be able to somehow trigger my mind back into what once was is what has led to me being locked away, cramming for an exam, it’s clear I’m never going to take.

But what else could I do?

Fuck, what else should I be doing?

Should I be trying to teleport back into some realm of normalcy?

And what does that even look like?

Going to brunch?

Buying Star Trek shit?

Banging my husband between meetings?

“ Mmm ,” Wes sleepily groans, eyes still closed, “ morning, Little Prey. ” He lets his lids finally lift. “ Feed me breakfast in bed? ” A wolfish lick of his lips is stolen. “ Sit on my face. ”

“Or perhaps you could put avocado toast into it instead?” Clark, my apparent stepfather, suggests on a haughty chortle. “Or perhaps a glass of orange juice?”

Wes pulls the sheet up higher to theoretically cover more of my naked frame at the same time he inquires, “How did you know I was in here?”

Another smug expression slips onto his face. “ How I could not? ”

Crimson instantly coats his cheeks prompting me to snicker.

Yeah.

I’m a screamer when the shit’s that good.

And the shit last night…and early this morning was sooooo that good.

My floor sleeping partner tucks one arm underneath his head prior to sighing, “Are you simply here to summon me to breakfast?”

“Mr. Reese has repeatedly been trying to reach you this morning regarding a conference call involving the import extension.”

The grumbling underneath me is familiar.

Comforting.

“I have your phone and your headset,” he announces and reveals the objects that were lingering behind his back. “Would you care for breakfast to be delivered to your office upstairs or down?”

“Down, please.”

“Very well.”

“Is our son awake?”

Oooph.

That still feels so fucking weird to hear.

“Your son is currently assisting Lucky as well as Lauren with the plating process and will engage in breakfast himself with his Gami once his sworn duty to feed the citizens of Gotham is complete.”

Watching the corner of Wes’s lips kick upward makes it impossible to not stare on in awe. “He woke up in a hero mood.”

“Cape and all.”

“That thing needs to be washed.”

“Cassandra has already been alerted to launder it when he leaves for school.” Smiles are sweetly exchanged. “Would you like me or Lauren to escort him there today given that you gave Jessie the week off?”

“You did?” my interjection receives his attention. “Why?”

“He needs time with us . Both of us. ” The blatant response is attached to his gaze finding mine. “And that’s non-negotiable.”

It’s impossible not to tease. “How often in a day do you say that phrase?”

“ Too often, ” my stepdad retorts, collecting our stares again.

“ I will escort my son to school after my meeting,” Wes informs. “Please leave the items on the chair and I will grab them on my way out.”

Clark nods his understanding before turning his attention to me. “And you, Bryn? Where would you like to enjoy your breakfast? Perhaps in the aquarium room?”

A loud, theatrical gasp shoots free, “I forgot there’s an aquarium room!”

“Studied our world history but not our world geography?” the man underneath me impishly taunts. “That doesn’t sound like the Uhura I married.”

Light snickers can’t be stifled. “Keep talkin shit, Spock, and I’ll remind you exactly of the Uhura you married.”

“ Promises, promises, Lieutenant. ”

His flirty response receives a scoff that sparks our visitor to abandon the items on the chair and gleefully flee.

Afterward, one set of Wes’s fingers dives into the back of my locks to pull me into a kiss while the other wanders the length of my spine. Our tongues lazily roll around one another’s once.

Twice.

Once more.

Greet each other.

Help us greet the day.

Attempt to stay connected yet are forced apart by the ringing of his cell.

“This definitely feels familiar and not in a good way,” I sassily scold as he slips away.

“ Noted. ” A sweet wink is presented. “And will be addressed. You have my word.”

“I don’t want your word…” Playfully tossing the blanket off my naked frame momentarily paralyzes him. “ I want your cock. ”

His lips purse together in sexual agony. “ Can you give me like…five minutes to reschedule? ”

“Sure.” Rolling over onto my back is swiftly followed by my bent legs falling open. “But I’m gonna get started now. And if I happen to finish before you do…” A small devilish shrug is delivered. “That’ll be your loss of ass ets, Mr. Wilcox.” I turn to shoot him a wicked smirk at the same time I let my fingertips land salaciously on top of my tit. “ Not mine. ”

Unhappy rumbles precede a whirlwind of events.

One minute I’m teasing him and the next my mouth is being covered during a finger pounding that’s used to buy him enough time to postpone the call. Our floor session leads to a shower session that eventually ends with a closet session, which is where I stay sore and sprawled out for longer than I planned.

During the process of slipping into a misty blue, lacy romper dress that possesses a deep v cut, I decide not to have my breakfast away from everyone else, essentially continuing my habit of hiding.

I’m done hiding.

I’m done wanting to hide.

Last night – between eating sandwiches like starving freshman and banging like newlyweds – we talked about moving forward and making new memories and connecting with the place we’re both in now, which can’t happen if I keep relocating myself away from them.

I need to be here.

I need to be present.

I need to be showing the fuck up.

For both him and our son.

Post makeup, jewelry, and shoes, I swing by the kitchen to cancel my breakfast delivery, an action that opens me up for helping Wy get ready for school.

Once we’re finished, I walk him down to the SUV where two guards are actively waiting to assist in transporting. They warmly greet us both and offer to strap him into his seat the second he’s inside the vehicle, only to be given a very defiant shake of the hand by a kid who is more like me than I probably should be proud of.

“I dot tis,” he firmly exclaims to them as I tuck his backpack and go bag on the floor space in front of him. “I do it.”

Holmes nods his understanding while poorly hiding his amusement. “Of course, Little Fins.”

The two of us casually watch him fight with the straps.

And then the arm holes.

And then the buckles.

All of the buckles.

Each action is accompanied by a slew of incomprehensible mumbles; although, I swear some of them sound like wannabe cuss words.

Eventually, a deep, heavy, defeated sigh floods the area, wordlessly demanding my attention inside the SUV again. “ Mom? ”

Arrogantly leaning against the side of the vehicle is attached to a hum. “ Hm? ”

“ Help, pwease? ”

I cock a curious eyebrow. “You sure?”

“ I tour. ”

“What do you need my help with?”

“ Buttle. ” He taps the pieces near his chest. “Buttle me like tapian tirk, pwease.”

“You the captain of this ship?”

“No,” Wy’s pointing extends in Holmes direction, “Fanken is.”

There’s no stopping my head from snapping to him. “Your first name’s Frank?”

“No. My first name’s Nathaniel.”

“Then…why’d he call you Frank?”

“Because, you ,” his expression is impish, “call me Franken No Fun. Not Holmes.”

“Huh,” I grunt in obvious mirth. “I’m very clever.”

“You have…an interesting…way with words.”

“Ughhhhh,” groans Wyland unexpectedly while wiggling around in his car seat, “made by star feet?!”

“Which is where he gets it from,” Holmes chortles to himself prompting me to casually flash him my middle finger.

Thankfully, getting him strapped in isn’t nearly that difficult for me.

And neither is retrieving his juice along with his favorite “road book” that’s basically his version of a word search only with animals instead of letters.

“Getting into the festival markets is not up for debate,” Wes gripes into his earpiece enroute to us. “It’s how we test new flavors and new products in unbiased atmospheres, build early anticipation, and assist in steering the seasonal choices. Our brands are to set the trends. We do not follow them. I expect marketing to receive an email regarding our acquired locations by the end of the day or your resignation by lunch.” The abrupt ending of his call occurs in tandem with his arrival. “ And what can I do for you, Ms. Winters? ”

“Excuse you.” Lifting my left hand is done in a snarky fashion. “That’s Mrs. Wilcox. ”

“My apologies.” Wes briefly admires the insanely large piece of jewelry prior to hungrily growling, “ What can I do for you, ” he indulges in an almost feral swiping of his lips, “ Mrs. Wilcox? ”

“You can tell me if you have a preference on where you sit in the vehicle.”

One hand casually sliding into his pocket is attached to a single word. “Why?”

“I was trying to be polite by not sitting in your respective seat.”

Confusion pulls his brow tightly together. “Why would you be sitting in any seat?”

“Because sitting in your lap with an audience is frowned upon.”

Holmes and Hill chuckle in tandem.

He doesn’t bother breaking eye contact with me to glare at them. “You believe you’re going somewhere.”

“I know I’m going somewhere.”

“ Brynley ,” his shoulders sympathetically fall, “I admire your commitment however-”

“ This isn’t a negotiation, Weston. ” My hands plant themselves firmly on my hips. “I’m your wife, not your employee. Whether or not you’re done trying to dictate my movements is on you but allowing you to no longer be successful? That’s on me.”

“Bryn-”

“I’m getting in this vehicle and taking my son to school and because you decided to try and dictate otherwise, you’ve lost my fuck to give about your seat preferences.”

“You sit behind the driver,” Holmes informs from his nearby position. “Wilcox positions himself in the very back – as to have more privacy while working – and you sit in the seat closest to Wyland.”

“Thank you, Franken No Fun.” I shoot him a playful grin prior to glaring at the man I married. “Now, was that so hard?”

His mouth twitches in argument but is interrupted once more.

“ Cab !” shouts Wy in frustration. “I meed da cab!”

“Why’s our son trying to hail a cab?”

Leaning back slightly into the vehicle, I sound out, “ Cr-cr-crab. ”

Wy nods his understanding prior to repeating it under his breath. “ Cw-cw-cwab. ”

“He’s reading his find the animals book and enjoying a nice cold cup of Totally Turtle juice.” An innocent shrug is wedged between statement. “Can’t lie. It’s not bad for something that has kale in it.”

“From my understanding, they’re a small business, based locally. Perhaps we should look into investing in their reach. Helping them take their product domestically to assist other families in their pursuit to have healthier children. We could also strike a contract for the charity program or potentially the future orphanages.”

“Which I am open to discussing, after we drop our son off.” I give a small adjustment to his black, notch lapel suit jacket. “ I’m going to sit in the back while you’re going to sit closest to Little Fins and not work during the drive to school. Instead, we’re going to engage with our child and one another.”

To my surprise, rather than refute, he simply gestures his open palm towards the vehicle. “After you, Mrs. Wilcox.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Wilcox.”

I sassily spin to climb in the vehicle and instantly receive a playful spank to the ass.

Ah.

The real reason he didn’t put up a second fight.

Once I’m settled in the back – directly behind Wy – Wes parks himself in the other captain’s seat while Holmes and Hill take their positions in the front. Music flows out of the speakers; however, it’s not what I’m expecting.

It’s not sang by children.

It’s not even child themed.

And the fact that it isn’t has the corners of my lips twisting upward as I lean in between the seats to ask, “Is this Def Leppard?”

He tosses me an equally amused expression. “Were you expecting something else?”

My mouth lowers yet no sound escapes.

Was I?

I mean…the kid watches more Star Trek than Tayo.

Why wouldn’t he listen to Def Leppard instead of Disney Hits?

“ Wuv libbbbs, wuv byeeessss ,” sings Wy at the top of his lungs in tandem with him tapping the page to indicate where the pufferfish is hiding.

“ Holyshit, if that isn’t the most adorable fucking thing, ” I whisper to Wes, pulling his attention away from the book our son is poorly sharing with him.

“ You should hear him sing Journey. ”

Giggles barely have time to precede Wy demanding, “Mom, find wionfish.”

Leaning over his shoulder grants me a great view of the entire hide-and-find landscape and an easier pointing position. “There.”

He dramatically gasps, “How I miss dat?!”

“I’ve missed this ,” his father slyly states in my direction.

“Watching him play a junior version of I Spy?”

“ Being together. ”

My eyes pull away from finding the next animal to latch onto his gaze. “Why do I have this gut aching feel that that was an issue before my condition?”

There’s a minor delay prior to him professing, “Because it was.”

“Dad, find bue tang,” Wy instructs between sips of juice. “ Duper hard. ”

“Oh, Mom gets the easy ones?” he playfully inquires during his lean closer.

“All eazy for Mom. She a marleen myologist.”

“I am a marine biologist,” I proudly concur. “And I’m ready to go back to being one.”

At that, Wes relocates his glare to me. “You want me to work less, but you to work more ?”

“I’ll take working at all at this point.” Resting my back against the seat is accompanied by my complaining. “As much fun as it is playing kidnapped Kaitaama all day long, I’m ready to return to my royal duties.” His brows twitch together in question prompting me to add, “ Star Trek: Enterprise. We probably don’t watch it often.”

“I think we’ve watched it together once.”

“I didn’t deal well with its abrupt cancellation, and I have mixed feelings about it being a prequel.”

“Go im oddor,” Wy mutters into the conversation demonstrating that he is not only eavesdropping but quite the little sea sponge when it comes to my sayings.

“My point is-”

“ Dad, where?! ”

“There,” Wes effortlessly points to the fish in question. “You find the next one, Little Hero.”

“Find all the sharks,” I instruct knowing that’ll keep him distracted for a few moments.

“My faaaaavvvodwettt!”

Another bit of pride pushes my shoulders back as I warmly proclaim, “He’s so my kid.”

“No one ever questions that,” my husband lightly chortles.

“And I’m not questioning if I should go back to work, Wes. I’m saying I am going back. That I want as much as need to. I’m planning on returning Monday.”

“They’re insisting you take another two off for liability reasons, remember?”

“How do you know that?” It’s impossible not to narrow my stare into slits. “Have you been reading my emails?!”

“ Monitoring. ”

“Same shit better branding.”

“Branding matters.”

Irritation flares my nostrils at the same time it widens my gaze. “ Weston. ”

“Yes.” He shifts in his seat to maintain better eye contact. “Security has been monitoring your incoming emails as a precaution until they have a viable suspect to focus their attention on. And part of that monitoring includes giving me access or updates on the information that has been sent to you.” His hands fold together firmly in his lap. “I will not apologize for assisting in the process of protecting you whether that be physically or digitally.”

“And I will not apologize for actively trying to move forward like we talked about.”

Silence uncomfortably stretches between us for the next several minutes only ceasing when Wy defeatedly whines, “ Tant find da hammahead. ”

In unison, we lean over to aid in the process, trapping him in between us.

Allowing him to build a bridge.

Be the bridge that always brings us together.

Spotting the creature leads to me saying, “I see him, but I won’t show you where. I’ll just give you a hint.”

“Otay!”

“The other fish are hiding him.”

“ Protecting ,” Wes quietly argues, forcing my stare to gravitate back to him. “They’re only trying to protect their great hammerhead.”

“And their great hammerhead is grateful but they’re going to end up starving it , if they don’t give it a chance to hunt.”

The metaphor melts his entire figure. “Can the fish have a little more time to prepare for its departure?”

“ How much more time, Wes? ” Frustration floods my vocal cords folding me slightly forward. “I mean…do you really think the fish and his fish school friends are ever going to be okay with the hammerhead swimming away again? Near danger? In the same vicinity as danger? Or…” my head tilts unhappily to one side, “are the little fish hoping that if they keep the hammerhead hidden long enough, it’ll just give up and accept its unwanted fish prison?”

“Hammahead eat fishies,” Wy informs, although it seems to be to his book versus us.

My chin slightly kicks in his direction on a crooked grin. “Kid’s got a point.”

Wes struggles not to smile and nods his head. “He does.”

“Those fishies are gonna have to open that school or risk getting their heads ripped off during her forceful exit.”

“Give them a week.”

One eyebrow is arched in question.

“Give them one week from today to finish checking the waters.”

“One. Week.”

“Seven days.”

“ You have seven days, Mr. Wilcox. ” It’s my turn to fold my fingers together tightly in my lap. “ Seven days until I return to being Mrs. Wilcox, head of her department at The Bower and Powell Aquatic Institute. ”