Page 51 of Shattered Dreams

In fact, I find it kind of relaxing, maybe even fun.

“Are we really going to have s’mores for dinner?” she asks, finally coming downstairs at five-thirty.

“Absolutely,” I tell her. “But we’re also going to have chicken and cheesy pasta, too.” I wink. “But we can eat the s’mores first.”

I don’t stop moving until seven-thirty, when Rylee is finally in her pink llama pjs and crawling into bed. I tuck her in, and get up to leave, but she stops me because I forgot the most important part of bedtime.

The story.

I freeze, unsure exactly what she wants, but just like her father, she is direct as hell.

She settles on Beauty and the Beast, so I oblige, though I’m pretty sure I’m going to completely botch it. Amelia was always better at this; at making voices and pretending things were bigger than they were.

“You sure this is the one you want?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She nods. “Uh huh. It’s my favorite.”

“Really?”

She smiles. “Mommy used to read it all the time.”

My heart breaks at her words. I can’t even begin to imagine how scary and confusing things must be for her. She squeezes her stuffies, curling closer to my side, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Well, I’ll do my best, okay?”

I take my time with each page, reading slowly, and keeping my voice low. Rylee tells me a couple times I’m “not saying it right” for certain parts, and so I have her say them out loud instead. But as each page is turned, I find myself getting tired and fighting sleep. It isn’t until I hear the click of the light, that I realize I must have dozed off and there’s a stuffed cow in my lap and a pig wedged under my arm.

Rylee is completely out.

“Hey,” Dre’s low voice stirs me.

“Shit, what time is it?” I ask, removing the animals and the books from my lap.

“Nine thirty,” Dre says, taking the book from my hands. I stand up, taking in the sight of him in his polo and khakis, looking a little disheveled and tired as well.

“I need to shower,” I say, mustering the energy to move. Dre looks at me for a moment, like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

“There’s chicken and pasta in the fridge,” I grumble. “And I meal-prepped. Made extra, so you can take some too. If you want.”

Dre nods as he heads to his daughter, and I watch him kiss her goodnight.

I make my way to the bedroom, and waste no time when I get into the bathroom.

Showering at night will be easier, at least until Dre and Rylee get the morning routine that works for them down. It’ll be a chaotic few weeks, so if I can make things easier on everyone by showering at night? I’ll gladly do that.

The hot water is a heavy relief on my aching muscles. Falling asleep while sitting flush against Rylee’s headboard was not good for my back. At all.

I close my eyes, reveling in the warmth running down my back, when I hear the shower door slide open. Before I can open my eyes, I feel Dre’s warmth, his solid frame against me, his hands on my hips. The sigh of relief that leaves me is unmistakable, and then his lips find my neck, and my entire body relaxes as he plants the softest kiss right where my shoulder meets my neck.

My heart races because this is certainly new. Not weird or unwanted. Just… new.

More.

The last few weeks have been a lot for everyone—football camp, professional development, getting the kids ready to go back—getting Rylee and Dre ready for their first day—me, going through all the paperwork and finalizing everything with the insurance and the cancellation of my lease. And though we’ve had moments here and there, I can’t say we’ve ever done anything like this.

Showered together.

I mean, we have showered together, but not in this capacity, and certainly not with our kids around.