There was no harm in cuddling, she told herself. But only for a few minutes, and then they needed to go their separate ways. Waking up naked and tangled together in the morning was definitely not part of theget it out of their systemsplan.
But when his breathing slowed, coming in deep and even puffs against her skin, she nudged him with her foot. “Brian.”
He made a vague questioning sound that told her he’d been almost asleep, so she nudged him harder. “Ow. What’s the matter?”
“You need to go.”
“Go where? I live here.”
“Back to the couch.”
For a long moment, she thought he was either choosing to ignore her or had fallen asleep, but then he lifted his head. “Seriously?”
“Yes. This is all confusing enough for Oliver. I don’t want him finding us in bed together to make it even more confusing.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. “He’ll probably call for you rather than roaming around.”
“You put the baby gate at the top of the stairs precisely because he might come looking for a parent,” she reminded him.
“Good point,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “I’m going.”
But he kissed her again before sliding out of the bed to retrieve his sweat pants, and Siobhan almost changed her mind.
She wasn’t wrong, though. Knowing what Oliver understood at this age was tough, but he could probably wrap his mind around the concept of mommy and daddy as a family unit, and she wanted to avoid making her and Brian a couple in his mind.
And herself, she thought as she listened to Brian wrestle with the unfamiliar baby gate before his footsteps receded down the stairs. She couldn’t make them a couple inhermind, either, and waking up naked with him in the morning would be a giant step in that direction.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought maybe she should have told Brian that instead of hiding behind her—their—son, but there would be so many tough conversations in their future.
Maybe they could just keep this one thing light and easy.
* * *
“Daddy!”
Brian jerked awake, the cycle of sleep to confusion to alarm racing through his head and circling back to the only important thing—Oliver yelling “Daddy.”
His son needed him.
Hitting the lever on the side of his recliner too hard as he tried to get up got him launched onto the hardwood floor, knee first. After pushing himself to his feet, he struggled with the first baby gate—which he’d closed after Stella kept trying to go upstairs and he got sick of her nails clacking on the wood—and then took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the dog’s panicked barking. The baby gate at the top of the stairs stuck and he finally just shoved it hard, ripping the screws out of the wood.
Siobhan stepped into the hall as he scrambled over the plastic and pushed Oliver’s door open, practically falling into the room.
No blood. No tears.
No flames or smoke.
No man in a black ski mask in the corner.
He looked at his son, chest heaving and knee throbbing. “What’s wrong?”
Oliver smiled. “I’m awake.”
“Oh. Good morning,” Brian said, and then he flopped onto his back on the floor, trying to catch his breath and hoping his heart wouldn’t actually explode.
A high-pitched giggle echoed through the room. “Daddy’s silly.”
“Yes, Daddy isverysilly,” Siobhan said, looking down at him and clearly struggling not to laugh. “Are you okay?”
