I didn’t set an alarm, but judging by the slightest peek of light, I suspect I woke up at five anyway.
For a minute, it seems like I’m alone in bed and I think maybe I dreamed last night. But then I breathe deep and smell that sweet shampoo smell that always clings to Madison. I’m under her fluffy comforter. And when I stretch my legs, I accidentally bump hers.
There she is.
She’s curled up on her own side of the bed, but when she feels me stir she wordlessly scoots over and slips into my arms.
Hello, naked Madison.
Last night rushes back to me, and it must hit her at the same moment because, without ever opening her eyes, she’s nuzzling in, kissing my chest. Her stomach is hot against mine. I run my hand over her soft, bare shoulder, down her back.
We haven’t even said good morning yet, but we’re having sex. It’s sleepy and sweet. A slow, lethargic caress that’s better thandreaming. I want to spend all day like this. Kissing her. Making her gasp and moan. But I have to get to work.
Even worse, I have to face my family.
After I’ve cleaned up and dressed, I go to the bed and kiss Madison’s cheek. She’s already fallen back to sleep, and the sight of her like this, knowing I get to be in her life in this way, it’s more than I ever could have hoped.
“I’ll see you later,” I whisper, and she hums her acknowledgment, eyes closed, smiling.
I slip into the house a little after six. My plan is to run upstairs, rinse off, then head out to the farm—even if I’m running late. Because the crops don’t give a damn if I’m in love or not. They still need water.
As I ease the door closed behind me, trying not to make the hinges creak, I turn and startle at the sight of my dad sitting at the kitchen table. Chair angled toward the door, like he’s been waiting. There’s a steaming mug in front of him, and I wonder if he’s been up all night or if muscle memory still pulls him out of bed before sunrise.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough like gravel. “Coffee’s in the pot.”
“Thanks.”
I pour myself a mug—thick, dark, and strong—and slide into the seat catty-corner from him. The shower can wait.
“Madison okay?” he asks gently, and I love that he’s worried about her. Cares about her enough that she might actually be the reason he’s up before the sun.
“Yeah, she’s okay.” I try to keep the smile out of my voice, not wanting to reveal just how okay we left things. Although I’m guessing my walk of shame in yesterday’s clothes already gave that away. “Where’s Tommy?”
My dad’s eyes glint with amusement. “Booked a hotel near the airport last night. Said he had an early flight this morning.”
I snort. “No, he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t,” my dad agrees with a smirk.
“What a little chickenshit.”
He chuckles, used to our feuds, then leans back in his chair, face growing more serious. “He was right though, you know.”
“Yep,” I say without missing a beat. “I definitely would’ve beat his ass if he stayed.”
He shakes his head. “Not that. I mean he was right to push you to tell me what’s been going on. I know you were trying to protect me, doing it out of love. But I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. That’s not fair to me.”
The guilt is immediate, heavy. “You’re right. It wasn’t.”
He tilts his head, trying to catch my eyes. “And it’s not fair to you either.”
I scoff, shrugging off any undeserved sympathy. “I don’t care about me.”
My dad sits forward, eyes steady, voice quiet but firm. “That’s another thing we need to talk about. You have to start caring about yourself, son. You can’t fix everything for everyone by carrying it all alone. Trust the rest of us to help. Trustme.If something’s too much, I’ll tell you. I’m not made of glass, James. But when you keep things from me like this, it feels like you think I’m useless. Like the diagnosis defines me. And that . . . that’s what kills me.”
His hand lands on mine—solid, grounding. He’s never shied away from affection, and today is no different.
I stare at the tabletop, eyes burning, throat too tight to speak. When I finally manage it, the words come out barely above a whisper. “I almost lost you. Andthatalmost killedme.”
