Page 85 of This Reckless Home

“You are more than he will ever see, Flower,” Steele adds, his warmth coming up behind me. “We see you. We will always see you.”

His large arms come around us all, and they hold me while I cry for the little girl who lost her loving mother too young and was left with a cold, distant father, not realising he would never love her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“SURRENDER” BY NATALIE TAYLOR

BLOSSOM

The world around me filters in slowly, and that’s when I realise I’m in the middle of the hallway, crying my eyes out like a watering pot.

“Sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know why I—” I pull back, out of the warmth of their embrace, and wipe my face, wondering briefly if my make up held or whether I look like a racoon. I shake my head, smoothing down my silk dress. “Have you guys eaten? Did Justin get enough, Ant? He never eats enough at⁠—”

“Blossom.” Nox's voice. Flat. A warning. My gaze snaps to his, and that fire is back.

“I’m fine, really. I think I just need some water and then bed and—” I start moving, wrapping my scarf more tightly around my shoulders as I walk into the living room, towards the drinks table. “Come on, let's go sit down, you must all be exhausted waiting up.”

This is better. If I keep talking about them, or about the kids, about anything practical really, then I won’t break down again. That is not what they signed up for.

The lamp is on low in the sitting room, making everything glow a dull gold, and someone has left my favourite blanket on the sofa, a muffin in a clear box on the coffee table. Tina. She’d know I’d need something comforting when I got home.

The domesticity of the scene cracks something inside my chest, but I don’t let it stop me moving, going over to the drinks and pouring a water I really don’t want.

“Sally was asking about the school trip form, I keep forgetting to sign it, I should do that tonight actually⁠—”

“Blossom.” Ant this time. Gentle but firm. My hands keep pouring that damn water.

“—and I think Noah's been having some trouble sleeping again, I heard him last night, maybe we could⁠—”

“What do you want, Blossom?”

Nox. Quiet. Not a snap exactly — more like the end of his patience. I lower the bottle of water, then turn, and he's watching me with those blazing green eyes, jaw tight, arms crossed.

I open my mouth. Close it. “What do you⁠—”

“Don’t.” His voice drops and a shiver runs down my spine. “Don't ask me what I mean. Don't redirect. Don't ask about the kids or the forms or Noah's sleeping. What. Do. You. Want.”

The silence that follows is enormous.

I’m certain he and the other must be able to hear my heart pounding, it’s blocking out all the other sounds of the house at night.

My answer comes from somewhere I didn't know I was holding it, like a thread that Nox pulls and the whole tapestry of me unravels.

“I want you to stay forever.” Barely above a whisper, the rhythmic pounding in my ears loud and unrelenting. “I want you to stay and never leave me and I want—” My voice fractures. “I want to stop being so frightened that one day I'll wake up and you'll all be gone and I⁠—”

I stop. Hear what I just said. Heat floods my face, my eyes widening as I look down at the ground.

“I’m sorry, ignore that, I don't—that's not fair of me, you have your own lives and I can't ask you to⁠—”

A hand closes around my wrist. Dark mahogany. Scarred in places. Steele.

I didn't hear him move but he's there, and his grip is gentle but absolute, stopping my retreat. Not pulling me toward him. Just stopping me from going anywhere.

I look up at him, my mouth dry, my pulse thrashing.

He's watching me with that still, dark gaze of his. Something moving behind his eyes.

“Do you want us, Blossom?”