When You're Gone Read online

  When You're Gone

  Abby Millsaps

  Copyright © 2022 Abby Millsaps

  ebook ISBN: 978-1-7370947-6-0

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7370947-7-7

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created by the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Developmental Editing by Melanie Yu, Made Me Blush Books

  Copyediting and Proofreading by VB Edits

  Cover Design by Cover Couture www.bookcovercouture.com

  Content Warning

  When You’re Gone is a steamy new adult romance that includes mature themes, mental health issues, references to infidelity, and language that some may find offensive. This is the last book in the Hampton Hearts Series, which should be read in order. It ends with a happily ever after.

  To my golden boy.

  Thank you for being my stoic, steady beacon in every storm.

  I love you. Forever.

  Chapter one

  Tori

  “Baby, your new boobs look amazing in that suit.”

  Heat crawled up her neck and flushed her cheeks, but the warmth spreading through her had nothing to do with the 104-degree water. She tried to keep her composure as a wave of self-consciousness bubbled up. She subtly adjusted the cups of her halter top, glancing down to ensure everything was still in its proper place. Once she was satisfied, she shot Jake a glare.

  “Seriously?”

  He smirked and raised the Gatorade bottle to his mouth, savagely popping it open with his teeth before taking a long swig. He’d already refreshed his beverage twice, so she knew he was feeling good—and was obviously unfiltered—tonight.

  “What? I meant it as a compliment.”

  Now it was her turn to smirk. He may have meant it as a compliment, but she knew when he was goading her.

  She was only half-submerged in the hot tub. She had just gotten the “all clear” to resume normal activity that morning at her final post-op appointment for her nerve-preserving prophylactic mastectomy. While technically she could go all the way in now, she was still hesitant to do so.

  “Have you had any occurrences of sensation?” Dr. Brennan had asked.

  Occurrences of sensation. Tori had barely managed to hold back a snicker. Dr. Brennan was a dual-trained oncologist and plastic surgeon, not a spin doctor. Yet it felt like she was making light of what was turning out to be one of the oddest and most frustrating experiences of Tori’s life.

  “I felt a sharp pain in the shower earlier this week,” she recalled. “It was so intense it took my breath away. I just sort of froze, too scared to move in case it happened again.” Her fingers ran along the edge of the thin paper covering the exam table. How many times had she sat in a room just like this? How many hours of her life had been spent on procedures and follow-up appointments?

  Dr. Brennan’s eyes lit up. “That’s excellent!” She pushed her glasses up her nose and made a note in Tori’s chart.

  “I don’t understand. The pain—it hurt so bad…” Tori tried to articulate her concerns but couldn’t find the words without feeling a violent surge of anger take over.

  Dr. Brennan peered over her glasses, probably puzzled by her less-than-eloquent outburst. She would have felt more embarrassed if she had the capacity to feel anything beyond frustration.

  “Pain is the first step, Tori. If you’re feeling pain, that means the nerves we worked so hard to salvage and graft are starting to wake up. Pain is part of healing.”

  Tori bit down on the inside of her cheek—something she had watched Rhett do so many times before in an effort to keep it together when he was on edge—but it didn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes.

  Rhett.

  She had insisted he didn’t need to be here for this appointment. She had been steadfast in that declaration until about a minute ago. Now she’d give anything to have her calm, collected husband by her side. He always knew what questions to ask, and he could always tell when she needed extra support. But he had headed back to Virginia a few weeks ago at her insistence, and he wouldn’t be back in Hampton for another week.

  “If you don’t have any other questions or concerns,” Dr. Brennan started, “then we can wrap things up and send you on your way. You have all the contact information for the office and the nurse line, but at this time, you don’t need to schedule any additional appointments.”

  She thanked Dr. Brennan—or at least, she thought she did—and gave a half-hearted wave to the receptionist who had checked her in for all her appointments over the last six months.

  She was grateful to make it to her car before completely breaking down. As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat of her Camry, she pulled out her phone.

  V: I just got the all clear. For everything.

  Work. Travel. Swimming. Sex. After more than ten weeks of recovering from surgery and taking it easy, she had no more restrictions.

  Ev: Best. Text. Ever. I’m so proud of you, V. You did it. We made it to the finish line. I love you, beautiful.

  Another text came through before she could even formulate a response.

  Ev: What did the doctor say about the pain you’ve been feeling?

  V: That it’s a good sign. That it means I’m healing and the surgery worked.

  Ev: Hell. Yes. I can’t stop smiling, V. I wish I could call you right now. I’m stuck in this merger meeting, then I have a business dinner tonight. But I’ll be there next weekend, beautiful. And we’re going to celebrate big time.

  She stared at her husband’s reply. All she could do was glare at her phone. He was overjoyed. Why didn’t she feel the same way?

  After several empty minutes, she gave up on trying to respond, stashed her phone away, and buckled her seat belt. But instead of starting the car, she started to sob. The tears surprised her, and then they made her mad. What was her problem? After years of scans and anxiety-inducing appointments, she had just walked out of a doctor’s office without any sort of follow-up instructions or next appointment.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  She couldn’t pinpoint the cause of her breakdown, and although she wanted to believe it was from the relief she should feel, relief wasn’t even on her radar. If she was honest with herself, nothing was on her radar lately. All she felt was empty. The only real things she had left to cling to were the physical numbness in her chest and the emotional numbness that had burrowed deep inside her.

  A gentle breeze made the tiny hairs stand up on the back of her neck and inspired a shiver that traveled the length of her spine. The March air was surprisingly mild—the temps hadn’t dipped when the sun set, instead holding steady in the low fifties. It was the first night that whispered a promise of spring, and it was one of the reasons they decided to relax in the hot tub. That, and they already had big plans tomorrow night at the Valet House.

  “No way. You don’t get to talk about my new boobs, Jacob Whitely. You may be my bisexual backup husband, but we need to have some sort of boundaries,” she insisted playfully, banishing the dark memory from her follow-up appointment to the back of her mind.

  She reached behind her to grab her own dark-green sports bottle. She held Jake’s gaze as she raised it and sucked in a mouthful of hard seltzer.

  “Baby. I think we gave up on the idea of boundaries when Rhett had that meeting in Virginia and I had to learn all about emptying a post-mastectomy drain on short notice. I fe
el partially responsible for those boobs. They’re not your new boobs—they’re our new boobs. I’m proud of them.”

  “Oh my god,” Fielding groaned, tilting his head back to rest it on the ledge of the hot tub. “Can we please talk about something else—anything else?”

  Jake cackled. His reaction confirmed what she should have expected from the start—he was just trying to rile her up. Or make Fielding uncomfortable. Or both.

  “You’re purposely being an ass, aren’t you?”

  “Alright, alright,” Jake relented, running his wet hand over his face and adjusting his backward cap before spreading his large, inked arms along the back of the hot tub. “Let’s talk about next weekend. Rumor has it Jake and Rhett Birthday Parties are even rowdier than regular parties.”

  Tori rolled her eyes. Next weekend was her twenty-fifth birthday, and the guys were insisting on throwing her a birthday party. Usually, she would put up more of a fight, rallying against all the attention, but part of her was looking forward to the celebration. So much had changed over the last 365 days—she’d gotten engaged and married and had undergone the two risk-reducing surgeries she’d been desperate to have for years. If there was ever a year to celebrate being alive, it was this one.

  “The party is Saturday night, right?” Fielding looked infinitely relieved about the subject change.

  “Yep. Rhett’s coming home for the whole weekend. He and I have plans on Friday night, then the party is Saturday.”

  “And it’s here?”

  She nodded and took another sip of her drink.

  “What kind of party is it, exactly, if Wheeler’s gonna be here?”

  Tori lowered the bottle slowly, considering the unspoken question behind Fielding’s inquiry. She glanced at Jake to gauge his reaction. He offered her a half-shrug, deferring back to her.

  “It’ll be a typical party. I know Rhett, and he won’t want anyone not drinking on his behalf,” she insisted, splashing water over the goosebumps on her arms to warm them. “But thanks for thinking of that,” she added, nodding appreciatively across the hot tub at Fielding.

  He winked assuredly at her and took a long pull of his drink. Then he turned to Jake and asked, “Who’s coming?”

  “Your brother offered to work for me, and Cole’s on the schedule, too, so neither of them will be here. Otherwise, it should be the usual suspects: Lia and Cory, Anwar and Teddy, plus some people who used to work with us at Clinton’s back in the day.”

  “Don’t forget Maddie,” Tori added.

  Fielding perked up at the mention of Rhett’s sister.

  “Little Wheeler will be there?”

  “She’s on spring break this week. She gets home on Sunday, I think, and she’ll still be around for the party next weekend.” Tori was looking forward to Maddie being home and having a roommate for the week. Nowadays she stayed at the Wheelers’ house almost every night, seeing as how her dad was seriously dating someone, and Rhett’s parents’ house just sat empty most of the time.

  Her dad had never asked her to leave, but what was the point in making things awkward for him and Tricia when Tori had an entire house to herself just across the way? She was happy for her dad—elated, in fact—and she wanted him to enjoy this stage of his new relationship.

  She had long suspected her father had waited to even think about dating until she was finally settled. Now that she was married, he seemed to be letting go of the past more easily—moving on and trying to carve out a life for himself beyond work and spending time with her. The irony was that he had never been the caregiver in their relationship. She’d spent so much of her teen years and early twenties taking care of him emotionally and financially. She was happy that he was happy, but she was also grateful for the reprieve.

  “You want another drink, baby?” Jake asked, rising up from his seat as water rolled off his abs into the indents of the well-defined V that narrowed into his trunks.

  “Yeah, I’ll have one more.” She squeezed her sports bottle into her mouth and emptied it before holding it out for him.

  As he exited the hot tub, Fielding shifted over and took his place beside her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to press too hard on her new boobs, as Jake had inappropriately dubbed them. She had never been self-conscious about her body before. Not like this. She hadn’t felt like this after her hysterectomy. But now there was this hollowness—a pang of discomfort that was more emotional than physical—when she thought about her mastectomy.

  It didn’t help that the scars were still so fresh. The angry, red lines would fade away with time. She just had to hold out hope that her insecurities would deflate with them.

  “Do you want to go inside?” Fielding asked, cocking his head in concern and meeting her gaze. They didn’t really talk about her mastectomy—he may have been one of her closest friends, but he wasn’t Rhett, Lia, or Jake—yet he still knew her well enough to know when she was uncomfortable.

  “No, I’m fine. I’m just being weird.” She shrugged, tightening her hold on her upper arms as gingerly as possible while avoiding his gaze.

  Fielding kept his eyes on her, trying to force her to look at him. She didn’t give in, though—she didn’t want him to see the truth she couldn’t even make sense of herself.

  “Tori… Let’s go inside,” he offered again, moving closer on the bench in an effort to guide her out of the hot tub.

  She sucked in a frustrated breath. She wasn’t mad at him. She was just so damn tired of feeling empty and unsure about what was next.

  She finally glanced over to find concern marring his expression. The tension eased up when they locked eyes. She uncurled her arms from around herself and slid lower, submerging her body deeper. The bubbles came to her top rib now, the warm water pleasant and soothing where she could feel it.

  “I’m good, I promise. Please stay.”

  Fielding squinted at her, looking for the lie. He must have accepted that the moment had passed because his critical expression transformed into a playful smile.

  “Fine. We’ll stay out here. Truth or truth?” he asked as he reached for his bottle, scooted farther away, and resituated himself on the underwater bench.

  She scrunched up her nose and held back a grin. She was grateful that Fielding didn’t back down when things were charged or uncomfortable. She heard the sunroom door slam shut behind Jake as he brought out their refills and confidently declared, “truth,” to kick off the game.

  Chapter two

  Rhett

  V: What are you doing right now?

  He glanced down at his phone and grinned, then quickly schooled his expression.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Rhett announced, pushing to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket as he rose from the table. His granddad caught his eye and tilted his head in question. He held up his phone and mouthed “Tori” before turning on his heel.

  Jonathan wouldn’t mind him taking a phone call from his wife. His granddad knew his priorities. And their business dinner had now stretched past the four-hour mark, so at this point he had worked a sixteen-hour day.

  He strode down a narrow hallway toward the back of the restaurant, ducking into a little alcove near the bathrooms as he clicked her name on the screen.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he greeted her when she answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, you,” she whispered into the phone.

  He held back an audible groan. He had missed her so much these last few weeks. This was the longest stretch they’d been apart in a while—this would be the third weekend he was stuck in Virginia while she was warming their bed at his parents’ house in Hampton. But he’d had several investor meetings over the last few weeks, and Tori insisted she wanted to get back on the schedule at Clinton’s and get back to her day-to-day routine as soon as she was cleared to work.

  “How are you? How’s your night?”

  “Mmm… I’m good,” she sighed breathily.

  Rhett smirked. He knew that t
one.

  “Oh yeah?” He peeked his head out of the alcove, glancing left, then right to see if anyone was around. Once he confirmed no one was lingering in the hall, he lowered his voice and spoke again. “Why don’t I believe you right now?”

  “Ev,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

  Hell yes. He definitely knew that tone.

  “What would we be doing if I was home?”

  “Fucking,” she deadpanned.

  He groaned into the phone, lifting his free hand and biting down on his fist. “Tell me what you’re doing right now, beautiful.”

  She sighed again, and he closed his eyes as he pictured her sprawled out on the middle of the bed.

  “I’m rubbing my clit through my panties,” she whispered. She wasn’t wasting any time tonight.

  “And why the hell do you still have panties on?” he demanded.

  “Because you haven’t told me to take them off yet.”

  His erection strained against the fly of his suit pants, creating a not-so-subtle bulge in his perfectly tailored trousers. He reached down with his free hand to adjust himself, squeezing his dick through the fabric in the hope of relieving the pressure. He grunted as the sensation only made him harder.

  “Take those off right now, beautiful. Peel them down your thighs. Then spread your legs open nice and wide for me.”

  She mewled in response to his instructions. He knew she was hanging on his every word.

  “Rub your hand down your stomach. Caress your scar just like I would if I was there to take care of you.” He gave her a few seconds to get situated. “Now I want you to just barely touch your clit.”

  Her little moan let him know she’d hit her target.

  “Touch it again.” He waited for her to moan louder this time. “Now pinch it.”

  God, he loved the breathy little noises that came out of her when he touched her just right. Or, in this case, when he told her exactly how to touch herself.