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His voice was lower than a whisper now. Nora had to strain to capture every word over the sound of her labored breaths.
“You always have been. Always will be. And I sure as hell am yours. Been yours since I was fifteen years old. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Lawson…” she panted, completely unable to pull in a decent breath.
His brown eyes locked with her green ones, he hesitated for only a moment, and then his mouth was pressed against hers. It was as unexpected as it was needed. The feel of his lips was something she thought she’d never have again—and yet his kiss felt like a long-awaited indulgence neither one of them could deny. Nora didn’t dare pull away. Her entire body acting on both muscle memory and instinct, she lifted her arms and rested them around his shoulders as she opened her mouth in invitation. She didn’t question it. She didn’t want to. She let go of every worry, of every thought, and leaned into the arms of the man she’d loved for more than half her life.
She didn’t stop him. Not when he folded her into his arms. Not when he reached down to palm her backside, drawing her closer still. Not when he grabbed the back of her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her long, sexy legs around him. Not when he carriedher down the hallway, toward the open bedroom door at the end. Not when he shut them inside or when he laid her across the bed. Not even when he stripped her bare, or when he rid himself of his own clothing to join her.
But she didcroon.
He moved inside of her once, then twice. On his third pass, she moaned as she clung to him. And just as he remembered, soon as she started to sing to him with her raspy, ragged voice, she couldn’t stop.
He paused, buried inside of her warmth, and smiled down at her.
“What? What is it?” she breathed.
“Forgot how much I missed that.”
“Missed what?”
He thrust his hips, and she crooned once more.
“That—my little songbird.”
She bit her lip, and he’d bet all the money in his wallet, the dark of night was the only thing preventing him from seeing the rosy hue of her cheeks.
When he failed to start again, she sank her fingers into his hair and lifted her head until her lips grazed his. She then insisted, “Don’t stop.”
They’re shaking the entire trailer. As I stare up at the ceiling above my bed, my stomach churns as I try not to picture what’s going on in the living room—or what I hope is the living room. If they’re in the kitchen, I’ll never be able to eat here again.
“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah,” cries Earlene unabashedly.
I can’t remember the name of the guy literally banging my mother, I only wish he would stop.
“Harder. Oh, yeah.”
When I turn to look at my alarm clock and see its already midnight, I give up trying to go to sleep. I grab my backpack and open it, double checking I’ve got what I need for school tomorrow. I then toss in a change of clothes and zip it closed. Glancing down at myself, I’m reminded that I went to bed in a pair of cotton shorts and a camisole. I don’t bother turning on the light as I search my small room for a pair of socks, my tennis shoes, and the Shelby High football hoodie I stole from Lawson two weeks after school started.
Once I’m dressed, I don’t think twice before I slide open the little window above my bed and toss my bookbag out into the dirt. The trailer is still shaking when I shimmy my way through the same window. It’s late, and the air is crisp against my bare legs, but I don’t care. All that matters is that I get out of here.
I cringe when I look back at the trailer, a few yards behind me. I’m not the only one who knows what Earlene is doing. Our neighbors can definitely hear her. Aunt Darlene has triedto convince me not to hate my mother.She’s nothing but a lost soul, Darlene says, trying to be compassionate.
“Yeah, well, you don’t have to live with her,” I mutter under my breath, folding my arms across my chest.
I’ve been sneaking out of my bedroom window since I was thirteen years old. I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve sought out the hide-a-key to the Bates’ residence before climbing into bed with Mitzi. Not surprisingly, I can count on one hand the number of times Earlene has even noticed her only daughter was missing. She’s never come looking. Though, on those rare occasions when she’s found out, I’ve definitely gotten an earful upon my return.
While the Bates’ house is only about a forty-five-minute walk, the Steele’s home is a few minutes farther. It makes me tired thinking about how long it will be before I’ll find sleep, but I know the extra distance will be worth it. There isn’t much better than a night spent in Lawson’s arms.
As I trek through the dark down a familiar route, I let my thoughts drift to places I don’t always let my mind wander. I wonder how different my life might be if my daddy stuck around. Knowing Earlene as well as I do, I can hardly blame my old man for leaving—it still hurts to think about sometimes, fully aware of what I’m missing. My need for Lawson is what got me out of bed tonight; it’s what makes me keep walking; it’s what convinces me to ignore the rustle I heard in the bushes a minute ago. Except, if I’d had a dad like Sterling Bates or Keaton Steele, would I still need Lawson as much as I do now? Would I love him any less?
I guess I’ll never know. After a while, I decide it doesn’t matter. I don’t have a father. I barely have a mother. I’m on my own. Fortunately for me, God made sure to give me the most loyal best friend and the most steadfast boyfriend. Lawson Steele is a pillar in my life, and I love him all the more for it.
I don’t realize how cold I am until I sneak across the Steele’s front lawn, stopping to grab a few pebbles as I make my way toward Lawson’s second story window. With no cell phone of my own, I’m stuck relying on old-fashioned resourcefulness. After my third attempt, I’m a little worried I’ll have to scrounge for a lot more pebbles to wake my boyfriend. I breathe a sigh of relief when, after my fifth attempt, I spot his shadow before he peeks through the curtains.
Lawson lifts his blinds and opens the window. Rather than speak a word, he signals toward the front door. I nod, and we both head that way. He flicks on the porch light as I approach, and he opens the front door slowly. When our eyes meet, he mouths, “shoes,” and I’m quick to slip them off, picking them up as I tiptoe inside.
Both of us hold our breath as we sneak upstairs. As soon as Lawson closes his bedroom door behind us, I drop my shoes and my backpack and immediately climb under his covers. He hesitates, staring down at me for a moment, and then joins me between the sheets.
