Page 82 of Shattered Dreams

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I say with a small laugh as I wrap more food and hand it to Paul, who slides it into the fridge. “I guess they’ve talked about it.”

“So, did you tell her too?”

“No, not yet. But I think we should. There’s no reason to wait.” I give him a careful look. “Right?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, we just haven’t really talked about it ourselves. What we’re doing. You know, that stuff.”

Paul walks up to me, putting his hands on my hips and looking me in the eyes.

“There is no need to wait. I’m fine telling the kids. We talked about this already.”

“I know, I just want to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

He kisses me softly. “I haven’t changed my mind. Now, let’s hurry up and put this away so we can get to bed.”

We finish putting the food away and clean up the kitchen a little bit more. I’ll do a thorough cleaning tomorrow, when I’m not too tired to do so.

When we crawl into bed, I anticipate sex. When we have time like this, it’s always what we do. But that’s not what happens. Paul curls up close to me, holding on tightly. And that’s how we fall asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Paul

I wake up, feeling colder than usual, despite the number of blankets I’m under. I reach my arm out and frown when I feel the empty spot next to me. Then I remember it’s Friday, and today is the elementary school’s Valentine's Day parties. Both the high school and middle school have their dances scheduled, which is why I get to go in late today, on account that there is no gym because they are setting up for the dance. So all I have to cover today is fourth period lunch, and study hall in the afternoon. I glance at the clock, noting its nearing ten, and I groan, knowing I have to get a move on if I want to make it in on time for eleven.

Dre’s in the same boat, but he’s getting out at eleven-forty-five, so the high school dance committee can set up for their Sadie Hawkin’s dance, which works out perfectly for him because the elementary parties start at one, and Rylee has no idea he signed up to help with her classroom party. She’s going to lose her mind when she sees him, no doubt. I wish I could be there for Maddox, but Amelia will be. She always does the party stuff at the school, at least right now, while Maddox is still cool about it. We both know eventually that’ll change, but neither of us are in any hurry for him to grow up any faster than he already is.

The house is quiet. Too quiet, honestly. It’s kind of creepy; haunting, even. It’s been eight months since I officially moved in here with Dre and Rylee. Some days it feels like it’s been no time at all, and other days it feels like this—us, our life—has been this way forever, even though it hasn’t.

I make my way down the stairs to the empty kitchen. There’s a plate with cling-wrap on the island, and I make my way up to it to see a note taped on top, with a large heart and my name written out in crayon. My heart twists in my chest as I pull the note off and the cling-wrap to see a large cinnamon roll, glazed with chocolate and…

Marshmallows.

Suddenly the house doesn’t seem so quiet any more, even though there’s no one here but me.

I smile as I grab the plate to warm it up for a few seconds, not long enough to melt the marshmallows, but just long enough it won’t be cold, and go to make myself some coffee, when I see a note posted on the coffee pot. I pull it off, smiling at the four words written out.

Have a good day!

I lean back against the counter, twirling the note in my hand. Andre did not have to do any of this. The fact he did, means he had to have gotten up at least an hour earlier than usual because there were certainly no s’mores cinnamon rolls last night before or after Rylee went to bed.

It’s just like him, though, to do something so simple, but yet…

It’s so much more than breakfast and coffee.

We never really discussed doing anything for Valentine’s Day, which is tomorrow. I know Dre’s been feeling a bit off lately with the anniversary of his wife’s death still fresh. Part of me wishes he’d talk to me; because I know that he knows he can talk to me. About anything. We’ve always been like that, and being together doesn’t change that aspect of our friendship. Our relationship.

Ever since we came back from our trip, he’s been different. I don’t want to say he’s clingy, but he’s definitely a lot more physical than he was before we left for the Valley. At home, with the kids, it’s mostly little things like hugging me or kissing me, or just cuddling on the couch while we watch movies. Behind closed doors, though…

I don’t think I’ve had this much sex since I was in college, but I’m not complaining, of course. Sex with Dre is fucking hot as hell, but I am aware enough to know that it’s a distraction for him. Something to take his mind off what—who—he lost. I wish he’d talk to me, tell me how he feels. I don’t think avoiding the subject is the best way to deal with one’s feelings, but I can’t exactly push him to do something he’s not ready to do. Nor can I say no when his favorite distraction happens to be me and my great ass.

If sex is what Dre needs from me to feel better, if that’s what helps him, why would I ever tell him no?

I finish up with my breakfast and coffee, shower quickly, and make my way to work with five minutes to spare, which is a feat given the traffic today.