“I probably took it a littletooseriously. I did everything I could to protect my sisters. Which caused some, uh, friction between us.”
“They have alluded to you being bossy.”
I huff a small laugh. “Yeah. I tried to control them a lot. How late they stayed out, who they went out with, what classes they took at school, how much they studied.”
She knows some of this, of course. But not all.
“Lenny was only two years younger than me. It really pissed her off. We had a huge blow up one night because I embarrassed her in front of her friends. She actually left home.”
“What do you mean? She ran away?”
“Yeah. She was fifteen. She packed a bag and took off.”
“Oh my God. I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. It’s not something I like to talk about. My mom was out of her mind with worry. She was certain Lenny had been abducted, and was probably dead in the woods somewhere.”
Ayla makes a small, distressed noise.
“And I wasn’t much better. I knew it was my fault. I was unhinged. A bunch of us were out looking for her every day. The RCMP were looking for her. None of her friends would admit to knowing where she was. She wasn’t at school. She wasn’t at any of the community shelters. As the days went on, I was convinced she was dead, too.”
“Obviously, she wasn’t.” Ayla sets her hand on my upper arm.
“Yeah. Turned out she was staying with a friend. She’d hidden her in the basement, and even the parents didn’t know. But when the RCMP came to question them a second time, Rory broke down because she was afraid she was going to go to jail.”
Ayla lets out a long exhalation.
“It was a whole big thing in town. Everyone knew about it. I… well, keep in mind I was only seventeen.”
Her hand squeezes my arm gently. “Too young to be a parent.”
“I didn’t handle it very well. I was so pissed at Lenny. Even though I’d been sick with worry for her.”
“That’s why you were so pissed,” Ayla says quietly. “Because you were worried. You loved her.”
“Yeah. That’s… yeah. We had another fight. She didn’t run away again, but for years, our relationship was strained. She started acting out in lots of ways. Smaller ways, but still… her goal was to push back. To piss me off. And it worked.”
“I always thought you and Lenny were kind of distant with each other.”
“Yeah. I hate it. But I deserve it. I was supposed to protect her and I totally failed at it. And then… I was supposed to protect Kane. And you. And I failed at that, too.”
She’s quiet, her eyes shiny as she studies my face. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Carson.” She touches my cheek with her fingertips. “I told you that.”
“I didn’t cause the accident.”
The car accident that had killed our son happened when we were on our way home from visiting Ayla’s parents. Road conditions were fine, I hadn’t been drinking at all, I was doing the speed limit, and some fuckwad blew a stop sign and T-boned our car. I had a broken arm. Kane was killed. Ayla was bruised and shook up but mentally, she was wounded in a way that was even more terrible and scary.
“But still, I was supposed to protect you both. Even after the accident. And I couldn’t. So… that’s why I don’t deserve to have more kids.”
We’re both silent in the dark cottage. Ayla’s breathing is uneven. Then she shifts closer to me, pushing the blanket away, wraps her arm around my neck, and presses her face to my chest. “Carson.”
My arms go around her without thought, without pause. I squeeze her to me, my throat aching.
She pets my hair, my shoulder, kisses my bare chest. There’s no one in the world whose comfort means more to me than hers. Even though I don’t deserve it.
We both take shuddering breaths. I press my mouth to her hair and breathe in her scent.
We cling together for long moments, I don’t even know how long, but as seconds tick by, things change. Her touch is comforting, yes, but also arousing. Her body against mine, her tits soft under the cotton shirt, has my cock thickening in need. I know she feels it too when her leg comes up to my hip and her center meets my hard dick. The instinct to grind into her there is too powerful to resist and then we’re both pressing our pelvises together and our hands are moving over each other—mine intoher hair, one clasping her foot and pushing her leg higher so I can press my hips into her.
