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He spat, “You don't deserve to breathe the same air as Lark. You're pathetic.”
I had never seen my uncle looking as he did in that moment. He was furious, but whether he was mad at how Bastian spoke to his wife or mad at his wife, I couldn't say. He didn't say anything for a minute, and I sensed it was because he was trying to understand what wasn't understandable. Suddenly he turned to Aunt Kim. “Did you kick your own niece out?”
She wasn't going to answer, but something in my uncle's expression made her scream, “Yes.”
“You've gone too far this time. She's your only sister's child—your only living blood relation outside of the girls.”
Kim just stood there and I didn't miss the malevolent look she threw in my direction. In the next second, as was her way, she burst into tears and ran down the hall.
My uncle turned back to me. “I'm sorry. I am so sorry. You are welcome to stay, but I don't blame you for not wanting to.”
“I'll be fine, and thank you for offering. Is it true some of your clients are getting pressure to seek help elsewhere?”
“She told you that too? Damn her. I'll handle it.”
I felt Bastian tense at my side. “Who's applying the pressure?”
And clearly he saw the answer in my uncle's eyes. “Son of a bitch.”
“Dad,” Dominic said almost at the same time. “Goddamn them.”
“Don't worry about it. It's only a mild inconvenience and considering how stunningly I've failed Larkspur, I'd say I deserve the headache. I'm here for you whenever you need me.”
“Thank you, Uncle Eddie.”
He then took off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. “What can I do?”
***
Two hours later Bastian and I were thanking Dominic and my uncle for their help and when the door of his apartment closed and Bastian flipped the lock, I felt a wonderful sense of peace despite the drama of the evening. He felt it too when he pulled me to him and whispered, “I'm really glad you're here.”
I rested my head on his chest. “Me too.”
“I know it's kind of childish, but when I was little our cook would make me warm milk after a shitty day, and it really did make me feel better. Would you like me to make you some?”
I could use exactly that kindness right now, even as my heart sighed at the thought of someone in his childhood actually being kind to him. “Warm milk sounds great. I'd like to take a shower first though.”
“Okay. There are towels in the closet in the bathroom.”
“Thanks for tonight: for being there when I needed you and for letting me stay here.”
He said nothing for a moment, only stared with a tender look on his face. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I think we've already established that I'd do anything for you.”
After detouring into the bedroom for my pajamas, I headed to the bathroom. There was a stack of soft towels in the linen closet in deep gray, green, blue and even plum, piled by color. I couldn't help the smile, because who would have thought the Bastian most knew was a bit of a neat freak. I grabbed a towel and placed it on the counter of the sink. I couldn't stop myself from touching his toothbrush, his razor and again I noticed how neat he was. There were no toothpaste splotches in the sink and no water splattered on the glass.
Turning on the shower, I waited for the temperature to get just right before stripping out of my clothes. As soon as the warm water sluiced over me, I felt worlds better. What a way to enter into my eighteenth year. I felt disgust for my aunt, but I felt really sorry for her too. Bastian had nailed it right on the head, shewaspathetic.
Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, I couldn't help but think that there was something deeply intimate about using Bastian's shampoo and soap. The smell of his shampoo had me fantasizing about him being in the shower with me. I could almost feel his hands on my body, slick from the water, as he roamed over every inch of me. My eyes closed on a moan as I thought about his hard body pressed up against mine. The ache in response had me turning the water on cold, as cold I could stand it.
After my shower, I dried off before changing into my pajamas. I ran my fingers through my hair, reached for my clothes and dropped them in the hamper. I liked the thought of our clothes being washed together. Clearly, I was going mental.
Bastian was on the sofa staring at my painting when I entered. He turned at the sound of my approach and looked his fill. “That's a good look on you.”
Grinning, I settled next to him on the sofa. I pulled my legs up under me and cuddled up against his side. He handed me my mug and the scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up in the steam. I felt a bit melancholy—this was a first for me.
“What's wrong?” He asked softly.
“No one ever made me warm milk before.”
