Page 53 of Kiss Me Forever

My brother’s eyes darkened, and then he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and led me into the dining room with the others.

My relationships had always been slightly complicated, and it seemed like it wasn’t going to get any better.

But even this dinner, the one that I had needed to get away from thinking about Reece and what would happen, had already been wrapped around him so tightly, there had been no escaping.

And if we broke something, if we hurt each other, it would twist so many other avenues.

Yet I knew I loved him. I had been falling for him in increments for far longer than I care to admit.

And now I needed to deal with it.

Even if that meant walking away.

Chapter 11

REECE

The scream woke me and I leapt out of bed, practically tripping over my feet. Gone were the days where I’d sleep naked or even in boxer shorts. Now I wore an old T-shirt and long pajama bottoms. We were going on eight weeks of Bella being under my roof, and we’re still finding a rhythm.

But this was the first time I had heard my daughter scream.

I practically slammed through the door as I went into her room, the nightlight radiating a small space, and went to the side of Bella’s bed. She was tangled in her sheets, her hands in tight fists in front of her, and she continued to twist within the blankets, alternating between screaming and crying.

I sat at the edge of the bed and reached for her shoulders.

“Bella. Wake up. Bella baby. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re home.”

I kept saying random words out loud, hoping they would pull her out of her nightmare, and that they were even the right words to say.

Home. My daughter was home.

And this is where she would be until she decided she was old enough to move out and start her own life. But that could be years from now, and I couldn’t even dare think about those moments in time.

Bella shot up, her forehead connecting with my chin. Stars danced behind my eyelids, and I held back a curse. Bella didn’t seem to notice though. She stared at me with wide eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and shook in my arms.

“Bella. You’re awake. What’s wrong.”

“I miss my mom.” Then she burst into tears. My arms went around her automatically, but I had no words to say.

Of course she missed her mom. She hadn’t spoken a damn thing about her since she’d moved in, though I had tried. My own mother had thought maybe therapy would help, but finding a routine between the two of us had been hard enough. And while I knew it had to happen eventually, I hadn’t wanted to start things off on the wrong foot. Maybe I had made a mistake. Then again, I was damn good at making mistakes these days.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, my voice gruff. Was that the right thing to say? Should I let her cry it out? I wasn’t good at this. How was anybody supposed to be good at this? What did you do when the daughter that you hadn’t known existed until two months ago starts crying in your arms because she misses her mom. The woman that I hadn’t seen in years, who had lied to me and everyone else about Bella’s existence.

I couldn’t hate Cassie. I couldn’t even judge her. Not anymore. Not when our daughter cried in my arms.

“No. I don’t.” She buried herself into my chest, and stilled, not sure what to do. Bella and I were still figuring things out. It didn’t even feel like we were friends at this point, let alone father and daughter. She told me about her day when I forced it out of her. I knew her friends’ names—Wyatt and Natalie—because I pried. I knew she liked to draw and paint, but she didn’t bring anything home from camp. Although the Montgomerys said that there would be an art show at the end of the summer where I would be able to see her work. I didn’t feel like enough though.

I didn’t know anything about my kid, but I was trying to learn.

I knew she liked lactose-free milk over regular milk even though she wasn’t lactose intolerant. I knew she loved all forms of sourdough, and Brooklyn was well on her way to teaching her how to make a starter. I knew my daughter wanted to learn how to plant flowers, and it was Brooklyn who was teaching her.

I knew my daughter liked English and science but not history or math. I had found that funny because it was usually one or the other not a mix of creative and analytical. Then again, I was a decent mix.

I was learning bits about my daughter, but sometimes it didn’t feel real.

I didn’t know when she would call me Dad or if she ever would. And I didn’t know what the hell to do about the fact that I was falling in love with Brooklyn Montgomery, and when I fucked that up, it would hurt Bella. Because somehow the relationship I had formed with my daughter had been irrevocably tied to Brooklyn.

But all of that didn’t matter in this moment, not when my daughter was crying in my arms.