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He looks at me once before he says, “Over here, Delia.”
There’s no mistaking the way he pats his lap, gesturing.
Looking around, I walk over and curl up with him, tucking my head under his chin. I relish that heat and almost spicy scent that wafts off him.
I’m becoming too obsessed.
When some of the morning help arrives to start cleaning the grounds, I know they could notice us and blab something back to my father, but I can’t make myself care right now.
I need his arms around me.
I need to know he’s okay.
I need him to make me feel safe—and hope I can do the same for him.
His bearish embrace lends one more shred of sanity to my crumbling world—even though it reminds me it’s anything but normal.
I’m not sure I’ll ever have that again for too many reasons.
“Did you hear anything new about Evie?” I ask carefully.
“Probably nothing you don’t know.” Chris shrugs, his eyes gazing past me at the slowly rising sun.
“Do you think it was an accident? Did she fall back into...um, something she shouldn’t?” I can’t fathom how I’m supposed to politely ask if his mother relapsed into a full-blown drug addiction.
Chris shrugs again. “She’s acting out, princess. We’ve been through this shit before ad nauseam. Ma stopped thinking things through and letting her impulses lead when I was knee-high to a cricket.”
A harrowing image of Chris as a scared little boy flashes in my mind.
He’s afraid and alone, showering the only love he understands on that mess of a woman.
God, it makes me angry and so, so sad.
“You saved her life. At least we can say one good thing came out of this,” I tell him.
“Whatever. I’ll put air in her lungs anytime—she’s a human being, after all—but I’m not gonna be around to sweet-talk her again and tell her everything’s gumdrops. I’m not her crutch. I was done with that bullshit years ago.”
I swallow hard.
I’m so worried about Dad.
Even though they’re both gone, I can taste the sour tension descending over this house, more stifling than the ocean dampness in the air. It’s a humid morning, and this coffee I sip from the thermos I carried out with me isn’t helping.
Part of me wants to bury my face in Chris’ inked glory and never come back. I’d love to just hide in this man without needing to face the rest of my life.
I want to cry all over him until I can’t.
The rest of me—desperate, loveless me—wants to reach between his legs and reignite what we started last night before everything blew up.
I’m getting used to finding peace when I’m joined to his flesh, and that’s hella dangerous.
“He really loves her, you know.” I slide my hand up Chris’ neck to his jaw, tracing it with my fingers, staring into his bright-green eyes.
I’m talking about Dad and Evie, of course.
But I think he can tell I’m hinting at us, too.
“Yeah, your father’s a good guy, even if he needs a balls transplant.” Chris smiles bitterly. “It’ll be a real damn shame when she rips his heart out. Your old man’s not the first nice guy she’s fucked over, sad to say. It always happens.”
