His frown is almost . . . offended.
“Of course I wouldn’t mind that, Colby.” He scoffs then walks around to the other side of the crib, grips the two posts, and nods at me to do the same. It takes me a long second to finally move, but eventually I do, and we carry the crib from the adjoining room to mine. When I go to setit down on the left side of the bed, Eian frowns and shakes his head.
“Can we take her to mine? I want you in my bed.”
Again, so simple, so straight-forward.
Again, it takes me a moment to catch up.
But I do.
I nod silently, and we carry the crib with Maggie inside it out of the room, down the hallway, and to the little nook next to the windows that seems to have been made for a crib.
Maybe it was?
“Maybe on the other side?” I ask tentatively.
It’s not like we’ve slept next to each other enough times for there to be any type of hard rule about sides of the bed, but Eian has slept on the left side both times.
I have no clue how to go about this, how to navigate this situation.
When I first signed up to start the long process of adopting, I was single, but I started a relationship soon after. My ex, the bastard who dumped me as soon as I was fired, was fully on board with my plan to adopt and wanted to adopt with me. So while we were together I kinda forgot about my single parent plan.
Then when I got the call that a mother had chosen me, the idea of romance or of ever finding another man to love me and my child were distant memories.
So it’s time to recalibrate,I tell myself as I keep looking from the bed to the crib.
Eian’s hands, suddenly on my shoulders and kneading gently, work like a balm to my anxiety.
“I like my side of the bed,” he whispers in my ear, then guides me to sit on the edge of the bed and sits next to me.
I no longer hate myself for shuddering when he kisses the sensitive skin just under my ear. I no longer curse myself when he pushes me gently to lie down with him and I go willingly. Or when I bury my face in the crook of his neck and sigh as he wraps his arm around me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
Even though he’s still whispering, I can feel the deep rumble on my forehead where it’s pressed to his throat.
“That’s a dangerous subject,” I muse, trying to lighten the mood, trying to give him an out.
“Would you prefer I tell you instead?” He’s not taking the out, that’s clear, and it’s almost like he’s challenging me, testing me again.
I’m not sure I know exactly what he’s going to tell me, what could be dangerous about it, and to say it sets me evenmore on edge would be an understatement. So of course I need to know everything he’s thinkingnow.
“Yes.”
“All right, sweet Colby,” he whispers and pauses to kiss my head gently. “I’m thinking that I love you. I’m remembering everything my Da ever told me about love. There’s not much, but he was very much in love with my mother. Her death is what really drove him over the edge, I think. We both changed after that, but also not. There are so many memories swirling in my head right now, and I think it’s mostly because most of my memories of Da are intertwined with memories of Harry and me as kids. And I can finally tell you about them. I knew I would someday, Colby.” He kisses my head again. Once, twice, then my forehead. “I don’t want you to think I was going to keep that secret forever. The second I saw how you didn’t cower away from me even while you were scared, I knew I’d never let you go. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but I don’t need it to. I understand that you probably do, but I don’t have any explanations to offer you.”
“That’s okay,” I rush to assure him. I think knowing how certain he’s been of his desire for me from the start is more than enough to calm my nerves, my thoughts about the future. I’m well aware there’s no way out of this. I’m not sure exactly when I stopped wishing for one, but I’m not anymore.
“So yeah, I’m thinking about Da, about how he smirked at me when I told him I’m gay when I was sixteen, how he said it’s a good thing he taught me how to make it hurt when someone disrespects me because I’d need it. I’m thinking about how he steadied my hand on the gun when he ordered me to kill Mariano. I’m thinking about how after Ma’s funeral we went to the Crawford home and stayed there for a week. No one knew where we were and we needed to not be seen. Da needed to cry, and he needed his sister after flooding the city with blood, after making me take part in that masacre.
“I know he didn’t enjoy making me do that, but he was still proud of how well I did. I remember how important it was for him that Harry treated me like a child those days even though he was already eighteen, how he needed to play with me and make me smile. I remember Harry’s determined look; he wanted to make Da proud too. He adored his Uncle Ronan. So we did both change after Ma’s death, but not with Harry. Not with Nan or Uncle Theodore. I could still be a kid with them.”
I lean back just enough to make out a sentimental smile lifting the edges of his lips, and reach back to grip his fingers.
Wherever this is going, I want Eian to feel howwith himI am.
“Back then, Da was Harry’s favorite person in the whole world, even though he understood that he wasn’t yourtypical good guy. He still adored him. He still hung on every word Da preached. He looked up to Da until he died, and it killed a piece of his soul—and of mine—when he couldn’t be at the funeral. I managed to sneak in unnoticed at Uncle Theo’s, there were so many people there. I got to kiss his casket and pray for his soul, but Harry didn’t get to do that with Da.
