In the aftermath, we collapse together, all of us falling asleep almost instantly right there on her bed.
21
DILLON
Iwake up slowly, my brain pulling itself together piece by piece. The first thing I become aware of is warmth, then soft breaths, and then the faint scent of vanilla hanging in the air.
There are also undertones of something sweeter. I still can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I’d know that scent anywhere. It clings to Roxie day and night, no matter what.
My eyes blink open, and there she is, curled on her side, facing me. Light brown hair shot through with gold spills everywhere, one of her hands tucked under her cheek and her lips are parted in a tiny, unconscious pout, completely asleep, unguarded.
Beautiful doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. For a second, I just lie there, watching her, and something too big to name swells in my chest. I actually have to press my palm to it like an idiot checking for an early-onset heart attack.
But nope. Just feelings. Stupid, ridiculous, overwhelming feelings. Damn.
I finally yank my gaze away from her, but the other spots in the bed are empty. Chance and Boone must’ve already slipped out.Boone is incapable of sleeping in and Chance likes to pretend he just wakes up early, but the man is on some kind of perpetual internal patrol. Always checking the perimeter. Always tuned in.
Which means they’ve left us like this. Just her and me tangled in the sheets. I force myself to move, inch by inch, so I don’t wake her. Leaving her warmth feels like tearing myself out of a cocoon, but I ease off the bed and grab the pair of black boxer briefs off the floor, pulling them on as quietly as possible.
Then I just stand there, staring at her all over again like some lovesick idiot in a romance movie.
I pad into her bathroom and shut the door most of the way, breathing in the faint eucalyptus of whatever body wash she uses. Sunlight cuts thin strips across the counter, lighting up the mirror like a spotlight on my own ridiculous expression.
Shaking my head at myself, I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face, bracing both palms on the counter. “Get it together, man. You’re not in high school.”
I scrub a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. I’ve built firewalls strong enough to survive global botnets. I’ve written algorithms that can find a single username out of a million. I’ve solved problems people twice my age would have cried over, but this? That girl asleep in our guest bedroom? She’s a whole different kind of code and I’m not sure I can decipher it, but not even that terrifies me the way it probably should. Instead, I’m thrilled.
Over the last few days with her acting so strange, I’ve been thinking about how she was practically air-dropped into our lives. I try to pinpoint why I feel so attuned to her when she’s pretty much only here because she has no other choice.
In my own way, I try to make sense of how deep my feelings run so I can determine how much it would hurt if she left.
I dry my face with the towel hanging from the hook, dragging the rough cotton over my jaw as I mentally walk myself through all the conclusions I’ve come to. Roxie gets my sense of humor. She matches Boone’s quiet intensity and appreciates Chance’s overprotective support.
Even professionally, she approaches work the same way we do. Diligent, thorough, and efficient. She knuckles down when it’s called for and is playful and funny when we have a break in the chaos. All the while, she brings this light to the house, a softer energy that calms even Chance’s instincts and soothes Boone’s jagged edges.
She just completes us in a way I hadn’t been sure we’d ever find, and it’s fucking great. Because of all that, I now know that I, for one, feel this way about her because she is, in every way, our match.
When I finally straighten up, I roll my shoulders and try to wipe the dopey grin off my face, but something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. Just a little flash of pink and white in the small wastebasket beside the counter.
I almost ignore it, but my brain catalogs everything, whether I want it to or not. Colors, shapes, logos.
A glance and the information locks into place.
For some stupid reason it takes me an extra beat to process what I already know. My stomach drops like I’ve just missed a step on the stairs.
“Holy…” My voice catches and I clamp my mouth shut before I say it too loudly. Holy. Fuck.
The words echo in my skull, but my feet are rooted to the spot, the towel still in my hand as I stare down at the wastebasket like it might spring to life and explain itself. A pregnancy test.
Roxie took a pregnancy test.
My heartbeat thuds in my ears, drowning out everything else.
My mouth goes dry, my grip on the edge of the counter tightening until my knuckles turn white. Was it positive?
She must’ve thrown out the stick too, but it isn’t visible from where I stand and I’m not about to dig through a woman’s trash. Even I have lines I won’t cross.
A rush of feelings, ranging from panic, awe, fear, hope, and something that feels suspiciously like joy, hits me all at once, messy and overwhelming, like static between radio stations.
