Page 35 of Parentmoon

“Relax, darlin’,” he says behind me, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

“It’s been a long time,” I whisper.

“Sounds like it’s been too long since someone’s taken care of you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, typically, I do the caretaking.” The instant I speak my throat clogs. I swallow around the thickness and close my eyes.

“Michael might have mentioned that a time or two.” Dallas’s rugged voice fills with a soft chuckle.

“He probably said I’m overbearing.”

“I’ve heard mothers can be.”

Dallas mentioned he didn’t know his mom, but I still ask. “Wasn’t your mother?”

“Didn’t know her. She left when I was five, leaving me and my younger brother with my dad. My grandmother tried to raise us, but we were hellions.”

Instantly, I picture a little Dallas with knobby knees and dark hair, chasing dogs and kicking rocks.

“Maw-Maw died when I was about nine. Then it was just Dad, Jett, and me.”

“Are you close with your brother?”

“He’s a pain in the ass.” Dallas huffs but pride fills the sound. “But he knows what we’ve come from, and he worked hard like me, to get away from who we were.”

I shift, attempting to look at him over my shoulder. The thing about our location is there are no external lights minus the soft glow of a night light highlighting the staircase for safety purposes. I can’t see his face well. “Who were you?”

Dallas resettles me to rest under his arm and tightens his hold. “It doesn’t matter now. That’s the past and I’ll never be going back.”

His confidence in the past remaining where it belongs is twofold. I admire his conviction that it should stay there, but recognize it’s easy to say, and not always easy to live. History has a way of haunting you from time to time.

Laying in his arms, hearing his breathing easing, slowing, and sensing his body grow heavier, the past sneaks into my head. Once more, I’m reminded of how long it’s been since I’ve been in this position and how much I’ve longed for someone to hold me.

I do all the caretaking, like I mentioned, and I’d like to take care of Dallas, if he could only promise to hold me each night like this.

The idea feels fleeting, and I swipe at a sudden tear. Crying makes no sense, but emotion is catching up with me. The romantic dinner. The moonlight dancing. Our current position.

We’ve gone to bed without sex. Just Dallas’s pledge to hold me.

+ + +

In the middle of the night, or perhaps the early hours of dawn, something tickles my arm and I nearly come out of my skin. For a second, I envision Lucas the Lizard, as I’ve named him, traipsing down my limb, only to realize it was Dallas’s hand which now holds mine.

“Jojo,” he whispers. I don’t really like the nickname but he’s clutching my fingers in his and his heavy breathing has me concerned. I shift within his arms, surprised he’s still clinging to me.

“What is it, baby?” The term simply slips out, mingling with my worry.

“Had a dream.” His voice is groggy, roughening the already gruff sound of his drawl.

I try to twist even further to face him, but he holds me in our position—my back to his front. Something firm and solid wedges against my backside.

“A bad dream?” I whisper, wanting to reach for his face, wanting to comfort him.

“A really good one.” He nudges forward, pressing the thickness of him against me. He moans near my ear. “You were in it. So good . . .”

He rocks forward again, hinting at his sleep-time thoughts. “Want you.”

Other than the darkness still around us, I have no sense of time. I could scold him for waking me. He wants sex. Now. But the idea of him dreaming of me, instantly has me turned on.