Lana sniffs, a rogue tear slipping from her eye. “Um, a library. Andwindows. And a really big kitchen with one of those electric stoves and really deep sinks.”
“Okay,” I say. “We will have all of that in our house, baby. I promise.”
Her lips twitch, and I take the win for today. It’s enough for me, just to make her feel better enough to give me a twitch. “And the kids?”
I smile. “How many do you want?”
“Two, maybe three. But if we have twins it’s a two for one deal and I’m cutting us off.”
I laugh. “Okay. Two babies.”
“How many doyouwant?” Lana asks quietly.
“However many you want, babe.”
“So two?”
“Two,” I agree. “And girls.”
“I have no control over that,” Lana chuckles, a bigger smile, but just by a centimeter or two.
I wipe her beneath her eye, catching the tear before it rolls down her cheek. “We’re going to have two girls. I’m psychic.”
Lana giggles, and it’s beautiful. “Okay then.” She sniffles and wipes under her nose with her sleeve. “You promise?”
“I promise, baby,” I whisper.
“Okay.” She’s pouting again and she buries her face in my neck. My hand slips under my sweatshirt she’s wearing and I wrap my arms around her. I always run hot and she’s always cold, we balance each other out that way, I think. “Can we watch some movies?”
“Yeah, baby,” I say. Holding her, I turn us on our side and she turns to press her back into my chest. I reach for the remote and scroll through our options until we come to an agreement on a comedy.
“I love you,” she breathes.
“I love you.
CHAPTER 23
Christian
I’m home now, so I cut the engine of my car and get out. I practically skip up to the front door and let myself in.
It’s seven o’clock, and Lana will be waking up soon. Her alarm usually goes on at seven fifteen these days, which I feel better about. She’s allowing herself to rest and I’m happy helping in whatever way I can.
I kick off my sneakers at the door, put them on her shoe rack, and drop my gym bag and take off my sweaty shirt in the guest room before I go to the kitchen. I start the coffee maker before I open the fridge and grab ingredients for the breakfast I’m going to make before I get into the shower.
We have fallen into a routine since I’ve moved into the guest room, perfectly in sync. And she is still so patient with me, encouraging me to speak about it at my own pace. I tell her some things, but they aren’t enough.
Some days I wish she wasn’t so patient or so in love with me because I don’t deserve it when I’m omitting so much, and I hate myself for it.
Lana still gives me everything she has. She kisses me in themorning, wraps her arms around me from behind while I make us breakfast. She has dinner with me every night when she gets home from the shop. I help with her errands and the groceries, and I love it. I feel human. It feels like I have everything I’ve ever wanted, but one thing is still missing, and it’s my fault.
I’mstill holding back.
I haven’t told her about going to rehab or anything else that happened before that. Much less the things I’m too ashamed to even think about. Things that make me wish I could take out my brain and slice those pieces of my history out. I’d rather never think about those things ever again, even after I die.
Instead, I’d rather think about last weekend and our three nights at the carnival. We always did all three nights since the nearest amusement park was hours away and we shared a love for roller coasters—until last weekend when I got sick on the pirate ship of all rides.
Of all rides!
