Page 58 of Wells

"Tell me about them. What are their names?"

He doesn't answer right away. I wait, not pushing, just letting the silence sit between us.

"What do you want to know?"

"I'm an only child, so I like to hear about a house full of siblings. What are they like?"

"Ridge, who you know, is the oldest.”

"What little I do know of Ridge, he's like you, a man of few words."

"Yeah, something like that. He's got a God complex."

I laugh.

"Reeves was a Navy SEAL. He's out now, living an hour from the city with his son and his partner. He's happiest when he's moving, or throwing a punch at someone bigger than he is."

"Oh, so you're an uncle."

"Three times over. Reeves has his son, Keller, a baby girl, and Cain, a girl, too."

"I always wanted to be an aunt. But, with no brothers or sisters, I will have to rely on someone else to make that happen." I stop there. Relying on someone is my Achilles' heel, and I don't want to open that door with him.

He rubs a hand through his hair and then puts it back at the curve of my waist.

"Who else?"

"Keller runs a high-dollar, private card table. He's probably the softest of all of us."

I grin against his chest. I can tell he's proud of his brothers, even if he won't say it.

"Cain's the bald one. Came back from New York last year. He's the family clown."

I understand that impulse. Keep it light, keep it moving, never let anyone see what's underneath.

"That's four. The last one?"

"Rhodes. He's the baby, in college at Loyola. He's the one you have to keep an eye on."

I try to picture all six of them in one room. The noise, the energy, the sheer volume of testosterone.

"That must have been chaos, growing up," I say.

"It was." His voice doesn't change, but his arm tightens at my waist.

I think about what it means to carry coordinates of your family. I never lived anywhere or was close enough to anyone that I'd want to do that. It makes me even more in awe of him.

"Do you still go back there?"

"Sometimes."

"Is it the same?"

"Not really, since both of my parents are gone. Our housekeeper still lives there, and it's like it's always been, but it isn't. As far as I'm concerned, it's her house now."

Locke told me about Wells's father, that he was mugged at night somewhere in the warehouse district. His fingers keep moving through my hair, and I let myself sink into the warmth of him, into the steady rhythm of his breathing, into how easily his body fits against mine.

Wells rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so I'm half draped across his chest. His hand moves up my spine, then back down, fingers tracing a slow line along my ribs.