“Every damn time,” he murmurs, leaning back.
“What?”
“Every damn time, it’s just as good as the first,” he says. “Better, actually.”
Blushing, I climb off him and fall onto my back. He leans in, kissing my mouth deeply as his fingers drag through my hair. He doesn’t have to say he loves me with his words. He’s saying it in the way he pulls the air from my lungs and sends tingles from my head to my feet.
“Your dick’s pretty good too,” I murmur when he pulls back.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, just alright.”
He laughs, rolling out of bed and grabbing his sweatpants. I unclip the clamps, laying them aside. He sinks into the chair by the window. I’m in a haze, warmth settled deep in my hips. I roll my head to the side, and I’m right back to the night we met. He looks just the same as ever to me. All rumpled, sexy, and satisfied.
“You look good,” I murmur.
He cocks his head. “You look better. Mind if I have a smoke?”
I shake my head, snuggling back into the pillows. He never smokes anymore; he quit when the kids came along. But occasionally, after a particularly good time, he’ll get a cigarette out of the dresser drawer to help smooth out the comedown.
“Open the window,” I say.
He stands, sweatpants riding low, and gets a busted pack from the dresser. I watch him from beneath my lids as he pulls open the window and flicks his lighter. His face hollows for a half second. Then, he leans in the window, and I’m distracted by him all over again.
“I told you that you didn’t want things to change. That’s why you were scared of Julie-Mae dating,” I say slowly. “I’m scared too, but not for her.”
“For Landis,” he says, turning and sitting in the windowsill.
I nod, throat catching. “He’s the only one I worry about.”
Silence. My mood is taking a sharp dive.
“I just…I wish he was yours,” I say, knowing my words could be taken wrong. “It would make things so much simpler.”
“He is—”
“I know he’s yours,” I amend. “I just wish… He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Neither did you,” he says. “We’ve all made something good out of something pretty damn terrible. We should be proud of that.”
I smile weakly. “I am.”
He stabs out his cigarette and sinks down on the end of the bed. His rough palm comes up and brushes back my hair.
“I’m proud of Landis,” he says. “I don’t want him leaving or going back, but we might get to that.”
I nod, sniffing. “I know.”
“We had our big adventure,” he says, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “And it led me to you. I don’t want him to go, but if he does, I hope he finds what he’s looking for, the way I did.”
That flips a switch in my brain. When Jensen and I returned to Kentucky together, he went to get some understanding and make peace with his past. Maybe my son is more like Jensen than I realized, both fiercely independent and so brave. It might not always be safe or comfortable, but that will always make me proud.
CHAPTER SIX
JENSEN
TWO YEARS LATER
