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Thankfully, she doesn’t resist this time, following my lead into the house and down the hall to my bedroom.
I push the door closed behind our entry and then fall into it, my forehead against the wood. After a beat of breath, I spin around and put my back to the door to find Carly watching me.
“Are you okay?” she asks from her spot curled up on my bed. She’s as close to fetal as she can get without actually lying down.
I chuckle, but it’s shockingly lacking in humor. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“Oh. Well, no. I’m definitely not.”
I shake my head. “Me either.”
“I mean…my brother is a Dom. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that!”
“I’m not your brother,” I insist with a laugh. “And I’m not a Dom. Not really.” I shrug. “I’m your future stepbrother. And I like control.”
“Wow. Now that’s an exercise in semantics if I’ve ever heard one.”
I shove away from the door and stride across the room, climbing into the bed with her and moving close. She scoots away at first, so I put my hands up innocently.
“No sex,” I promise. “Not right now. I just want to hold you. Can I do that?”
Reluctantly, she nods, and I curl an arm around her shoulders, pulling her deep into my side. She’s warm and soft, and the smell of her lavender-scented hair is remarkably soothing to my ragged nerves.
We don’t say anything else, instead melting into the comfort of each other’s closeness. I shift us down some and rearrange the pillows behind us, and before I know it, Carly’s breathing steadies as she falls asleep.
And not even a minute later, I don’t notice when I follow.
October 11th, Sunday
Sal
After giving my Stella a real good smooch this morning, I headed back to my place to change my clothes and take a shower.
Across the lawn and toward my house, I smile when I catch sight of Betty Matthews’s golf cart puttering up the road, in the opposite direction of our houses. Word on the Sunny Creek street is that Nan bailed her out of jail yesterday evening.
I can’t imagine the kind of fallout that woman is about to face from the community. There’re a lot of people around here who have been waiting for Betty’s big fall from power, and they’re more than ready to pounce on the whole “she’s a convicted criminal” excuse to kick her off all the damn committees she heads up.
Personally, I’m not too busy with any of that hogwash. The smart thing for me to do is to agree with whichever side my Stella stands behind.
I step through the front door and let it close behind me, glancing at the largely undecorated space of my entry and living room. Francine was always the one with the eye, and after she passed and I moved in to this house, I gave up on making it anything more than a place to be. No personal touches. No semblance of a real home. Just a structure with floors and walls and furniture to sit down on occasionally.
I never dreamed I’d be as happy as I was with her again—I considered myself lucky to have one great love who overlooked my flaws to the soft spot underneath—but being with Stella and feeling seen again makes me believe I’m in the prime of my youth all over again.
I drop my phone on the dining room table as I pass it by and head for the back of my house and my bedroom. Soon enough, we’ll consolidate our belongings to one household, so we don’t have to leave each other to shower and change clothes, but for now, it’s a part of my routine.
Ryan’s closed door grabs my attention as I walk past it, the look on his face yesterday while he asked if I’d checked on him or not popping into my mind.
The two of us have hardly ever been on the same wavelength, but despite what he might think, that kid is the absolute apple of my eye.
He’s accomplished and thoughtful, and goddamn, I’m proud of him. He may be an adult in the eyes of every other person on the planet, but to me, he’ll always be my baby boy.
Gently, I turn the knob on his door and crack it open to peek inside and find way more than I bargained for.
Deep in sleep, Ryan and Carly are curled up in the center of the bed over the covers.
They’re a tangle of arms and legs, wrapped up around each other like it’s their only viable form of protection from the outside world.
Ryan’s face, though, pulls my attention away from everything else and holds it.
Normally, my kid’s always got enough tension between his eyebrows to hold up the Brooklyn Bridge. I swear he carries the weight of the world on his back every day, all day long. Trying to be perfect and successful and productive.
