“What are you thinking about, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fingertips grazing up and down my back.
I smile. It’s like he always knows when my mind is wandering.
“Just thinking about how lucky I am that I get to see this side of you,” I whisper, flipping over to face him, “that’s all.”
“Oh, yeah?” he drawls. “What side is that? The side that just fucked his girlfriend on the stairs and gave her rug burn on her knees?”
I giggle, though I cringe after, thinking about how, in the heat of the moment, I didn’t notice that my knees were sliding against the carpet so much that my skin is literally raw now. But it was still worth it.
“No,” I whisper, reaching up and pushing his hair back. “The side that’s been rubbing my back for twenty minutes, watching a show that you know I like.”
“It’s because I’m hoping to titty-fuck you later,” he says, winking before he pulls me against him. “I’m just kidding.”
My arms slide around his waist. His skin feels so warm against mine, and I look up at him. It feels like we’ve always been this way. It feels like we’ve always been this close.
“You know what made me love you even more today?” I whisper. “And, no, it’s not what happened on the stairs, so don’t even say it.”
“Well, that made me love you more,” he says, grinning until I squeeze his nipple and he whimpers. “Okay, I’ll stop. Just no titty twisters.”
Once we settle, I touch my nose to his. “When you found out that your sister had been living a good life and had found herself a real home …” I stop, my throat burning with emotion. “I’ve never seen that sort of happiness on your face. And it wasn’t for yourself. It was for her.” I feel the wetness of a single tear stream down my cheek. “You are so selfless, Hendrix. Do you know that?”
He doesn’t smile or agree. Instead, he looks pained.
“I don’t know about all that,” he whispers. “I, uh … I’m not always that selfless.”
I frown. “Why do you say that?”
Sighing, he releases me slightly before rolling onto his back while keeping one arm around me, pulling me close.
“Because my dad came to see me after a game a few weeks ago and I sent him away,” he utters. “Well, I had gone to see him first.”
Keeping the comforter tight to my chest, I sit up. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He nods once. “I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him that I was leaving the past in the past and that he could go to hell.” He swallows. “But I got there, and he told me he was clean. And I … I just left instead.”
I look down at him—down at the strong, rigid man as he slowly turns back into a broken, scared little boy.
“That must have been hard for you”—I pause—“to see him again.”
His response takes some time, but I don’t hurry him.
“Yeah. He, uh … he’s been clean since I went to juvie, and he didn’t ever call or anything.” He breathes out a bitter laugh. “What kind of dad does that? What kind of parent gets off the fucking junk and doesn’t even care enough about their kids to let them know?”
“I’m so sorry, Hendrix,” I whisper. “Maybe it’s for the best though. Maybe him calling you when he first got clean would have caused issues.”
I try to be careful with my words, wanting to make sure he knows I’m on his side while also trying to ensure him that it’s not his fault.
“Yeah, I guess.” He exhales. “The truth is, Isla, I know he’s my father, and I know it’s selfish of me because he’s obviously trying to get better, but … I don’t want to know him. I don’t want him to be a part of my life ever again.”
For some people, maybe they wouldn’t understand his decision. For me, I do get it. Because if my biological dad came back now and tried to make up for lost time, I would tell him to fuck off. There comes a point in time when your mind decides that it’s taken enough shit and there’s no going back. Hendrix is at that point. And if you ask me, he deserves to be.
Lying back down beside him, I kiss his cheek. “I think that whatever you decide to do when it comes to your father is the right choice. And I promise that whatever you decide, I’ll support it.” I kiss him once more. “I love you.”
Even after weeks of telling each other those three simple words, it seems like every time I say them, he’s shocked. And maybe that’s because aside from his sister, he didn’t hear them, growing up.
He pulls me on top of him, kissing me. “I love you more, Nineteen. Thanks for being my one good thing.”
I bury my face into his neck and feel his heart beating against my own. I don’t push him to talk, but I think he appreciates just having someone here after he just said the words out loud that he didn’t want his dad in his life. I can feel his gratitude. And I’ll always make sure to do my best to let him know I’m here when he needs me.
