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She’d come to Brick in a moment of crisis. All those submissive longings had found their first expression with him. I may only be your first Dom.
How many people stayed with the person they found when they had that many variables to juggle? How did they reconcile wanting to be in two places four hours apart?
Stop it. What was meant to be would happen. She couldn’t control or direct it. Like when Brick took over. Things always seemed to end up in a really good place when he did that. Maybe Fate would be just as kind.
Rory was sitting in his chair next to the bench Daralyn was on, which put him within arm’s reach of where Les was sitting. At his touch on her arm, she leaned toward him. He pitched his voice low, presumably so he didn’t interrupt the current conversation. Thomas was telling his mother about an upcoming art show in California. He and Marcus were encouraging Elaine to go with them, since she’d always wanted to see Monterey and ride along the Pacific Highway.
Rory glanced toward Brick, who was listening to Thomas and Elaine’s discussion. “You know,” he murmured, “It isn’t a surprise to any of us that he became an arson cop. Takes patience, being real methodical and focused.”
“I know.” She gave him a quizzical look.
“When he wants something bad enough, he’s willing to take his time and wait for it. Lot of things you might feel like you have to worry about, Les. That’s one you don’t. Not if you decide he’s the one you want.”
Her brother’s sudden ability to read her body language was unsettling. But as her gaze slid to Daralyn, she realized it made sense. Daralyn’s emotional state had been a minefield for a long time. Under stressors, it sometimes still was. The man who loved her had to stay a couple steps ahead.
Brick’s patience wasn’t new to her. Discovering that somewhere along the way Rory had found the patience and focus to be the same kind of man for Daralyn? That was proof that miracles existed.
She suppressed a smile. They all grew up. They all learned to wait for what they wanted.
Fate could be kind.
Since she’d lately been rocked off her axis by the things she couldn’t control, that she thought she could, the words didn’t completely settle her. But they helped.
Elaine wound up the California conversation with a promising “maybe,” her expression intrigued. But when she glanced at her watch and rose, it was time to return to the house and Easter dinner.
She and Daralyn had wrapped the prepared dishes in foil so they could be re-warmed without much labor. Her mother had also had Les set the table last night with the white china, folding the lavender Easter napkins under gleaming silverware. Marcus had brought Elaine a bouquet of Easter lilies that would grace the center of the table. It would be flanked by a pair of white porcelain rabbits Elaine always brought out for the holiday. They’d belonged to her mother.
Traditions, rituals, patterns. Reassurances that, despite the crises, there were things you could count on. As Brick rose with her, his hand slid to her lower back, a steady pressure. She looked up at him.
No matter what happened, where their relationship went, she could always count on him to have her back if she needed it. Just like her family.
Brick gave her a searching look, so much like Rory’s. She was pretty sure she was starting to recognize those “Dom signs.” Marcus routinely gave them all that kind of look, though she’d never put it together the way she did now. Now that her “sub zone” had been activated.
Her lips twitched, even as she gave Brick a nod. She was okay. Maybe even a little better than okay.
After an Easter dinner with way too much food, Thomas and Rory gently bullied Elaine and Daralyn into going onto the porch to sit down and relax. The rest of them cleared the table, and handled the dishes. Iced tea was poured and brought out for anyone who wanted it. Dessert would come later, when they had a space for it.
Thomas and Marcus took a seat opposite one another on the steps, their legs stretched out, calves brushing. Rory was beside Daralyn, who sat in a wicker chair, while Elaine was in another one, separated by a small table holding the two women’s tea. Rory had his glass sitting on the porch floor next to his chair.
Brick and Les were on the porch swing, Brick’s long legs pushing it back and forth as Les folded her legs up beneath her and rested against his side.
There was some talking, but after the heavy meal and the early morning service, they were also content to sit quietly, feeling the touch of the breeze, smelling the scents of spring, watching the sun shine on the world around them. When Thomas caught their attention with a subtle gesture, they were quietly amused to note Marcus was dozing, his head settled against the railing by the porch steps. It was rare to see him that relaxed. From the tender way Thomas looked at his husband, Les suspected he liked those instances that told him Marcus felt comfortable in his surroundings, with Thomas and their family.
Occasionally they waved at neighbors passing in cars or on bicycles. One or two had stopped to chat for a moment before continuing onward.
Les thought about how she would view those familiar faces if she was working here as a doctor. Cue Doc Hollywood, the montage of Michael J. Fox’s “Dr. Stone” treating his various patients’ ailments, from delivering a baby to treating fishhook wounds. It reminded her so much of Fairhope.
“Will you go by to see Dr. Spring while you’re here, Les?” Daralyn asked. “He was picking up some lawn seed this week and said he had a book you might want.”
“Maybe. Probably.”
Considering what she and her mother had talked about at the cemetery, she amended that in her head. Yes, she’d go see him. Maybe even talk to him about what had happened with Llanzo. He'd practiced medicine for thirty years. His perspective would help with her own.
Brick was sliding his fingertips up and down her upper arm. The pacing of it, the rhythm, caught her attention. A slow glide, a sensual intent. She tilted her head his way, and found his gaze on her. The rest of the family was currently in a discussion of…something.
“It’s Easter,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ll both go to hell.”
“Doug, one of the guys in the Richmond house, has a tattoo of a skull wearing a fire helmet and clasping an axe. The words around it say, ‘They won’t let me come to Hell. I’ll put the fire out.’”
