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It was no small amount of undiluted joy I got upon seeing his perfect hair all out of place. However, as he retook his seat, undid the tie and let it all fall around his face, something tightened in my stomach and that’s when I knew it.
He unnerved me not just because he’d once had a thing for Caelan, but because, he was another god like my husband. And yet, this god—this particular one—made me feel as though I could say anything at all because he’d rather any truth or dark revelation over any bit of fake boasting any day. That’s what scared me: Eric was someone who hunted out truths, wanted to know a person deep, deep down and would stop at nothing to get there.
He was real.
I wasn’t as cold and as calculating as Caelan could be which made me fear I might accidentally tell Eric everything about myself and then he’d get bored of me. Was it the mystery of Caelan that kept him intrigued? And would he use my truth against me? Or would he thank me for my honesty, and we’d become the best of friends?
“Tell me something true, and then I’ll tell you something true,” I offered, trying not to grin.
His eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. “Too easy.”
“We’ll see.”
“Well,” he said. “I can see what a wonderful mother you must’ve had, because of how you are with Logan.”
Way to slice me open. It felt as though I’d been winded.
Wetness appeared on my cheeks in no time.
Of course, Caelan had told me what a wonderful mother I was, but he’d never said it must be because of my own. We didn’t talk about our parents. Any of them.
I used the heel of my hand and Eric frowned deeply, unsure if he should come over or what he should do.
I raised my hand to show it was fine. “I needed to hear that.”
“Oh… good.” The relief then in his features was quite endearing. To know he could be affected, too.
“My turn,” I said, quickly wiping my nose on my sleeve.
“Oh, god,” he groaned.
I smiled gently, then I said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
His hand shook as he lifted it to his lips. He managed a small smile behind his spread fingers, then he murmured, “I know.”
I threw back the last of my wine and he took that as a cue to escort me upstairs. All the while I heard his every breath, felt his every step behind me and smelt the outdoors in his hair, clothes, then the coffee he’d drunk, the particular fabric softener he liked that we’d had to go out and get.
In bed, I dangled my hand over the edge and into the cot so Logan could clutch my finger. He occasionally squeezed as he dreamed, meanwhile, Eric sat in the corner in Caelan’s big tub chair.
We snagged eyes and he said, “Not that anyone would try to make it here in this hideous weather, but I’ll stay awake while you sleep.”
The wind seemed to be dying down anyway, but I didn’t argue, just closed my eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
Before I moved or did anything in the stark morning light, I watched as Eric slept. He snored a little with the angle of his neck; perhaps he’d fought sleep and not been able to last a second longer. The man barely ever let himself off the hook and it was nice to watch him like that, completely dead to the world. Aside from workout clothes, he never wore anything but those jeans he favoured, never downgrading to sweats like Caelan often did. Eric was still in his brown suede jacket and a white t-shirt beneath which stretched across his chest. I had to admit he probably was one of the most good-looking men I’d ever known. All a matter of taste, of course. Personal opinion. But even though Eric was my age and had lived, he still had that ethereal quality of a young Orlando Bloom playing Legolas inLord of the Rings. His bones were immaculate. Those strangely long black lashes fluttered on razor-sharp cheekbones every now and then.
Surely, surely, if my husband had any sense, he’d come home already! I lifted my head slightly and saw the baby was busy sucking his thumb, head tossed to the side as he continued to snooze. It was still only around six o’clock but the kid definitely took after me, being able to sleep the way he did. My dad used to say I’d been a good sleeper and it was the one saving grace as my mother battled post-natal depression.
I thought about going back to sleep for just a moment, but then my eye snagged on something outside. It looked like a trampoline from a nearby farm or perhaps, even, a faraway farm had blown all the way out here. It’d smashed into a tree and caused some damage to it, though the most damage had been to the trampoline itself, if the mangled metal poles that’d once kept it upright were anything to go by. Luckily it hadn’t blown right into my car which was nearby. Absentmindedly, I got up to look out of the window and to inspect if there was any more damage, this movement snapping Eric from sleep, his hand reaching for the gun again. I made a mental note—he kept it in his inside pocket.
A few seconds passed and he took in the scene, realised all was fine, and relaxed.
The first thing he did was get up and look at the baby in his crib. Logan had begun to stretch and mewl, nothing more.
Eric sat where I had just been sleeping and let Logan squeeze his finger tight.
“Just a weird trampoline, like it blew in on a Mary Poppins breeze,” I said.
