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I nod, resting my head against her shoulder. That makes sense.
And today?” Beau pipes up, looking visibly shaken.
“I gave him his injection in his study before we went for a walk,” Angie replies, resting her cheek against the top of my head.
“But, he’s okay? Right?” David grits out. Angie offers him a small smile, leaning forward to cover his hand and squeeze it.
“Yes. He’s otherwise fit and healthy. He’s recovered incredibly well from surgery. The other valves have no signs of disease. He should be able to live a relatively normal life, just with his daily Heparin.”
David nods, offering her a tentative smile back and clasping her hand for a moment. Angie sits back and puts her arm back around my neck.
“Why didn’t he say anything to us?” Max asks, sounding bitter, and Angie sighs, looking across at him. She smiles softly around at all of us.
“It’s a weakness. You know he likes that you all look up to him. You all love him. That much is obvious from how you’ve reacted to this news. He didn’t want you all to know that he’s not Superman.”
There are a few weak chuckles at her words, but I turn them over in my mind as we all sit in quiet contemplation. Uncle Billhasalways seemed like Superman to us. He came from nothing and guided and shaped our whole lives. Plus, he’s our uncle. We love the overbearing bastard. Once it becomes clear that no one else has questions for Angie, I stand, nodding to the boys, and leading her out of the room.
Angie doesn’t say anything as I take her upstairs, into my room. She glances around with interest while I pace the room.
“What do you need from me, Tim?” she asks quietly.
I turn to her. Whatever Angie can see in my face, she understands, and strips off her clothes. Once she’s in her bra and panty set, I shuck off my clothes, tipping her onto the bed and thrusting into her. Angie moans, clutching at my hair and locking her ankles behind my back as I fuck her into the mattress. I’m not as tender as I normally am with her but, fuck it, Ineedthis damn connection. Angie’s hips buck in time with my punishing thrusts, and we both tip over the edge in no time.
I come with a groan, burying my face in Angie’s hair as I roll us over, settling her on top of me, running my fingers through her hair while her face rests on my chest. Covering us with the blankets, I stare up at the canopy over the four-poster bed.
“How are you feeling?” Angie asks, but I sigh, shaking my head.
“I just want to hold you. Is that okay?” My tone is tinged with uncertainty. Angie snuggles her face against me.
“More than okay, Tim,” she whispers. That’s what I need to hear. I bury my face in her hair, gritting my teeth as a tear escapes and tracks down my cheek. Fuck. Uncle Bill better live for a while now. I’m not ready to lose him.
Chapter Sixteen
Angela
Something has changed between Tim and me after our afternoon nap and snuggle session. Everyone has been openly acting like we’retogether, including Bill.
Tim touches me freely, wrapping his arms around me during drinks before dinner, sleeping in my room every night,all night. It feels a bit like a relationship, which is worrying. Worrying because this is going to hurt me when we leave Kent and he returns to California, while I go back to Illinois.
I’ve been liaising with Gladys about when Bill’s brothers and their wives arrive, but other than that, and when I give Bill his injections, Tim and I spend most of our time together. Which is pretty much what we were doing before our Oxford trip, even if I was in denial about it.
Not at the moment, though. At the moment, I’m by myself. Tim and Bill were sequestered in his study, and I played a game of billiards with David in the library before wrapping up warm and heading for a walk toward the picturesque pond.
I need to clear my head. I’ve been so wrapped up in the deliciousness of Tim that I haven’t really thought about logistics. His parents arrive in a few hours, and I need to steel myself to the idea that he’s going to act like a stranger with me around them.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, we’re having a holiday fling. You don’t exactly broadcast that kind of thing to your parents. It’s more that if I haven’t steeled myself for it, it might hurt, is all. With Tim spending so much time with me, and coming to bed with me at night, and waking up with me in the morning, I’ve really gotten to know him.
Waking up with him in the morning is officially my favorite time. We usually lie and chat. I know all about his house in San Diego, his favorite foods, all that kind of thing. I know how he takes his coffee, and his eggs. I know he cannot stand the taste of tomato, and walnuts give him hives.
And he knows all about me. He knows that I have no idea who my father is, and my mother bailed when I was six, leaving me on the doorstep of a police precinct. He knows about the more awful experiences at various foster homes, and that because of one of those, the smell of paint thinner makes me gag.
In fact, Timothy Brooks Westerhaven officially knows more about me than any boyfriend I have ever had. He knows more about me than any single other person in the entire world, actually. Maybe he knows too much. I should have kept myself more guarded, but I couldn’t help it. It felt so natural to talk with him. It felt like it was natural for him too. Shit. It’s going to hurt so bad to walk away from this.
I stare at the pond, leaning against one of the fence posts, wondering how I got myself in so deeply with him when suddenly, the smell of honey and oak surrounds me right as hands slide over my waist, a body presses against my back, and a nose burrows into my hair.
“I wondered where you’d run off to,” Tim murmurs as I smile softly, covering his hands with mine, where they lay on my stomach, and resting my head back against his shoulder, savoring this moment.
“Just seeking some peace and quiet before the house fills up.”
