Page 85
Keep resting his head on my shoulder and let the game be the only soundtrack to this moment?
This moment where I feel so out of my depth but still right.
This is where I should be. There’s no other place where I’m needed.
If the boys wake up for whatever reason, I’ll be able to hear my phone from over here. It’s just on the console, a measly few feet away.
I don’t know if he does actually need me, but it feels like, if not me specifically, he does need someone.
I can be someone.
It clicks then, that I don’t need to say the perfect thing. I just need to be.
“What did you forget?” I keep my voice soft and gentle, because there’s no way it can come out as anything else right now.
“I forgot how much I like fucking. How good it feels to come, to shut off my brain and be in my body. At least for a little while.” He sounds a little bit more alive by the end. That’s something.
The one good thing I can focus on.
Because the rest is . . . bleak.
“I’m glad you remembered,” I murmur against his hair, then go with my instinct and kiss his head again.
“Thank you,” he whispers back.
“Don’t,” I protest immediately. “Please don’t thank me for that. Believe me, it was my pleasure.”
He snorts and swats gently at my chest.
“Not that, you dork.”
God, that teasing tone feels like a balm to my soul.
“Thank you for holding me, for putting my damn shorts back in place, for caring.” He whispers the last word and it feels like the end of a conversation.
Which is good because my throat is officially closed up for business.
No matter how much I don’t even want to imagine, my mind starts to conjure up things a person has to go through to end up thanking someone for caring.
It’s the simplest thing.
But not everyone gets that.
I should know—I do know.
And with that clarity, I find my words and my will to speak.
“You’re easy to care about, Sunny. You’re amazing.”
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. Long enough for the game to end, and for me to wonder if he fell asleep.
I’m coming up with strategies to shift him into a bridal carry to take him to his room when his voice jolts me.
“You’re not what I ever expected, Tucker Barclay.”
He’s back to sounding more like himself, though there’s a hint of uncertainty that I can’t fault him for even a little.
I want to get rid of it. I want the confident Sunny back, but I know it’s not really up to me. Keeping him talking seems like the best way forward.
