Those aren’t going anywhere. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out.
He lifts his head.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
A single tear escapes and trickles down the side of my face.
He shifts, and then I feel his lips against the tear streak. “I’ve got you, Addie,” he whispers. “You’re safe. I swear to you, I won’t hurt you like that again.”
I believe him.
And it scares me, but what if he’s right?
What if he won’t hurt me?
I can’t speak, so instead, I nod.
He settles his head back into the crook of my neck. “I’ve got you,” he says again.
I suck in a shaky breath and lift a heavy arm to run my fingers through his short, thick, curly hair.
Tomorrow, I can say it back.
Today though, I’ll be the one who lets him take care of me.
21
Duncan
I’m splayedacross Addie’s bed Friday morning, buck naked, watching her get ready for the day. She’s wrapped in a towel, and I can barely see her flipping through her hangers. “You don’t have a game day uniform?” I ask her.
“I do, but I—hold just a minute.” Her phone’s ringing. When she picks it up, it’s clear she knows the person on the other end. “This did not require a phone call. I’m not trying to take all of your time.”
Whatever the other person says, it’s obviously not what Addie wants to hear. She makes a noise that I know very well.
It’s heryou’re stepping on my independencegrunt. “Thank you. You could’ve said that in a text…. I would too have listened. You have a very authoritative text style when you want to.”
A soft blue sundress comes flying out of the closet, followed by a short-sleeve white cover-up thingy.
I forget what Paisley calls those. She has a couple though.
The motion in the closet stills. “Are you asking because you don’t know, or are you asking because you want to know if myversion lines up with the version Cooper told you after Luca and Brooks texted him the rundown?”
I lift my head off the pillow and try to get a clear view of Addie, but she’s moved deeper into the closet.
It’s a walk-in, but it’s on the smaller side. There’s not far for her to go.
“Absolutely not. I—no!No. Okay.Fine. Hold on.” She leans out of the closet, still wrapped in a towel, her hair hanging wet at her shoulders, her cheeks nearly burgundy. “Will you please tell Waverly she doesn’t have to put one of her security agents up to following you to make sure you’re behaving?”
She holds her phone out.
It’s just a phone call—no video—which is good, since my ass is on display.
While I’m not all that modest, none of us need one of the world’s biggest pop stars telling her husband she saw my ass in bed.
He’d enjoy the pranks he’d play as a result too much.
“I’m not behaving,” I call to Waverly. “You should definitely have one of your security people trail me to give a full report to you and Addie at the end of every day. Especially if they can help me with my golf swing.”
