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“Yeah. I talked to them last night and told them I was here with my friend, who I wasn’t ready for them to meet, and uh, I guess that meant they needed to take it upon themselves to be overbearing and overprotective and to check up on me because while they do trust me, they also love me way too much, and they’re far, far too curious.”
Leon tries to sit up, but I plant my palm on his rock-solid chest. My hand tingles at the warmth of his skin. I want to put my lips there, but I don’t, since I need to be wearing clothes when my parents finally get in here.
“Don’t sit up too fast.”
A wry smile arches across his face. “I’m okay.”
“Still. Don’t rush. I—I don’t want you to….”
“I’m not made of glass,” he assures me, but tenderly and kindly.
“It’s three in the afternoon.” I figure that out after I spin around to check my phone, which is on the nightstand. “Shit. They will not expect us to be in bed.”
“You get dressed, and I’ll make sure the bed looks immaculate, and there are no articles of clothing strewn anywhere in the room. I’ll need a five-minute distraction. And if you could throw some of my clothes in here, I’d appreciate it.”
Right. Clothes. Yes. I race for the bedroom where my bag is. I throw open my duffel bag and find a sundress, my bra, and panties, all in record time. I might not actually have the bra on straight when I’m done, and I think my panties might be on backward, but I’m not stopping to check. I’ll deal with it later.
Peeling open Leon’s bag feels something like an intimate intrusion. Yes, I pick up his dry cleaning, but that’s different. I know I’m being silly, but pulling out a T-shirt and jeans, a pair of boxers, and grabbing a black leather bag that probably has his brush and toothbrush and such, feels like I’m delving somewhere that I shouldn’t.
These are my husband’s things.
My fake husband.
Well, my real husband, actually.
I don’t have time to debate the semantics of that, so I rush back to the bedroom and set everything down on the end of the bed. Leon is sitting up with the sheet pulled over his lap. His hair is flattened on one side, and he’s still blinking away sleep. I wish I could take him right back to bed. My thighs ache, and my va-jay gives a bigoh hell yeahvote to that idea, but unfortunately, it’s not an option.
Nope, because that’s the front door I hear opening.
“Double shit. They’ll probably want to go boating or something. It’s early yet. My dad will insist you come along so he can give you the Dad Inquisition while we innocently pretend we’re just out there to enjoy the day and catch fish.”
“That’s fine. I have sunglasses. Dark ones.”
“But you—”
“Have functioned every single day of my life in the daylight?”
I sigh. I can’t help but lean in and graze his forehead with a kiss. “I don’t want to do something that will make you hurt.”
“My whole life has been pain, Darby.” He turns his face up to me, and he’s so vulnerable and open that my heart throbs, and my breath stutters. “Being with you these past few days has been one of the only times I’ve ever felt any relief.” His small smile is the only thing that keeps me from losing it. My eyes are dangerously tingly.
“Because—because we’ve reversed our schedules and are awake at night? Because you already had the worst of it, and it let up for a while?”
“I don’t know.”
It could be a thousand things. Less stress, finally opening up, not carrying so many burdens and tension with him. It could even be the damn endorphins. I’m not silly enough to think I can fix someone’s brain. I don’t know that anyone can do that, even really good medical personnel, but I hope they can. I really hope they can. I’m going to figure out if someone here can, and I’m going to get Leon to see them. I just haven’t found the time to do some research yet, but I will. I will because there is no way I’m going to allow him to keep suffering like he is.
“Darby?”
“Oh god, that’s my dad. I’ll close the bedroom door and distract them with coffee. Java is something they can’t refuse at any hour of the day.” I race around, doing exactly what I said before closing the door firmly behind me.
“Darby?” My mom is calling for me now.
I race out front, out of breath by the time I get there. “Oh. Hey. What are you guys doing here?”
“We wanted to come and say hi and make sure you were okay. We missed you. Can’t a father see his long-lost daughter?”
I put my hands on my hips and give them both a stern look that I have to force. They’re dressed for the beach—my mom in a yellow maxi dress and a big floppy straw hat, my dad in khaki shorts and a floral print shirt. He loves his floral print shirts. There is nothing that could tear him away from them. They have a distinctly tropical vibe with their big pink flowers and palm trees, and I have to say, it’s good to see them here.
