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“Are we ever gonna talk about the wholedaddything?”
I roll to my side, propping my head on my hand. Her hair fans out beneath her head and she practically glows, a halo of light I wish I could steal for myself. “What about it?”
“I mean,” she says, turning to face me and chewing on the corner of her lip, “it’s weird, right? You don’t even have any kids.”
Scrunching my nose up at the thought of anyone buthercalling me that, I shrug my good shoulder. “Does it make you feel weird to say it?”
“Well, that’s what I called my father.” Her mouth purses as she looks up at the ceiling fan, eyes distant. We don’t talk about him usually, but for me, he feels like a never-ending presence in the room, a wall between us we haven’t fully torn down. Despite her supposed acceptance of me being his cause of death, there’s still some kind of horror living there in his memory, a ghost she doesn’t seem to want to discuss.
“You know that, just by calling me that, it doesn’t make me your biological father, right?”
She laughs, and I think it might be the first time I’ve ever heard the melodious sound come from her lips. It makes my chest compress, my throat tight, and I tear my gaze from her pink cheeks before I fall into a hole I can’t crawl out of.
“Obviously.” Brushing her hair from her face, she snuggles closer to her pillow, blinking up at me with her baby blues. They’re wide and vulnerable, an offering I want to take but know I shouldn’t.
I know I’m no good for her, but the problem is that I don’t seem to care.
I’m not good for anyone, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping to one day be.
Because a little known caveat about an angel fallen from grace is that he never stops wanting it to be recaptured. Even at his darkest, that desire ebbs at his very core, a secret prayer that maybe his soul can be restored.
And I’m wondering if Juliet isn’t my shot at redemption.
“Has anyone else ever called you that?” she whispers, dipping her chin toward the mattress, dropping her eyes.
“Have you ever called anyone else that? Youdidinitiate it, if I recall correctly.”
“To annoy you! I didn’t think you’d be into it.”
“A dominant guy like me, enjoying a nickname that gives me power over you? What a crazy concept.”
A smirk tugs at my lips, and I roll over again, flattening myself on top of her. She squeals, squirming and trying to push me off as I let my weight settle, pressing my face into the crook of her neck. Her giggles fill the room, and I want to keep her here, trapped against my satin sheets and happy, for as long as possible.
“Kieran, stop! You’re smothering me!” She coughs around her laughter, and I burrow deeper into her warmth, wishing I could siphon some for myself. Wishing I could crawl inside her skin and sew myself into the chambers of her heart. “God, why are you so heavy? Do you eat lead or something?”
“No, baby, but I’m carrying a sizable package. Sometimes it weighs me down.”
Her mouth falls open to retort; I can feel her hot breath against my ear, but a knock at the door makes us pause. Reaching behind me, I yank the comforter up and over our bodies, not bothering to move from my spot atop her as it swings open, my entire family standing at the threshold.
“If you’re gonna sneak girls in, you should probably at least be quiet about it,” Fiona says.
I turn my head toward them, rolling my eyes. “I’m a full-grown adult living with his parents. Maybe I’m not sneaking her in so much as I’m trying to avoid that particular conversation.”
Footsteps thud against the hardwood floor as they approach, and when I glance to my right, my mother stands at the edge of the bed, a wide smile aimed right at us. “You must be Juliet! We’ve heard so much about you, dear.”
Juliet’s jaw drops, a soft whimper escaping as she buries her face behind her hands. “Um, hi there.”
“Mom,” I snap, embarrassment spreading through me, heating my cheeks.
“Are you fucking blushing right now?” Boyd’s voice joins the foray, a tickle audible in his throat, and irritation flickers low in my belly, a flame I can’t extinguish.
Murder. I want to slaughter every one of them right now.
“Christ, son, don’t be stingy. We want to get to know her if she’s gonna be spending her nights here, using our electricity. Our son.” My father comes over to stand behind my mother, placing his hands on her tired shoulders. At least he has the decency not to look directly at us.
“Can we do it when I’m not butt ass naked?” I tuck the comforter tighter around us, making sure no inch beneath Juliet’s neck is exposed. Her shoulders shake, making something in me deflate at the thought of her being so humiliated she bursts into tears. “Seriously, fucking leave. Now.”
My father rolls his eyes, but seems to catch on to my tone. He steers my mother’s wobbly form away toward the door. “Don’t forget, we need to talk this afternoon.”
