“I have an appointment in a few days,” He tells me, “But the good news is that I can move my fingers.”
“Oh!” I grin, “You can!?”
I knew it was a major concern. With nerve and muscle damage to the extent he had, there was a very real risk of him losing all function.
His eyes flick to me, and his brow quirks, “Considering they were inside you less than thirty minutes ago, I’m shocked you’re so surprised. Perhaps you need a reminder of what they can do.”
My cheeks burn, and my stomach twists. He chuckles darkly, dipping his eyes down as if he can sense what his words have just done. But he’s right, he used both hands, his mouth, his cock, but I hadn’t the sense to even realize.
He smirks, returning his attention back to his daughter while I melt into the carpet.
Dean and I fall into a natural routine. He works through the day, and at night, we become a team for Lily. We eat together, watch movies, and then he sleeps beside me, holding me, and we wake up and do it all again. I sleep better; the nightmares, while they still occur, aren’t as debilitating, but he knows when they wake me. And he’s always there to chase away the chill they leave behind.
And life just gets easier.
While I don’t think my anxiety will ever stop, or that I’ll never check that the doors and windows are locked, I feel like I can breathe.
I’m falling in love with being here, watching Lily grow, watching them grow together.
He wanders through the door from his basement office with his laptop balancing in one hand, his other back in his sling. His rehab appointment is tomorrow, but he’s gaining strength already. Placing the laptop down, he clicks a few things and turns the screen toward me.
“What do you think?” He asks me, a hint of vulnerability in his voice, which catches my attention.
“About?” I turn my eyes to the screen to see several tabs open along the top.
“I’ve picked out some things,” He continues, “For Lily.”
“Her nursery?” I pull the laptop closer and click on the first tab. It’s a new crib, white with a distressed kind of look to the wood, pretty and delicate lilies carved into the head and footboards. It’s so prettyandexpensive. I’ve seen the designer’s name before; the boutique, a favorite for the clients I used to work with at the daycare. I often forget Dean has money, a lot of it, because he isn’t like the people I used to know.
I keep the tab open as a yes and move onto the next, finding the furniture to match the crib, and so on. He’s picked bedding and curtains, and a rug, all fitting the floral theme of the crib. It’s light, airy, and bright. As I move to click onto the next screen to see what else he has chosen, a pop-up appears at the top of the screen, and the mouse accidentally clicks it instead of the tab.
Immediately, a bright blue screen appears.
“Uh,” I lift my hands, not knowing what I did but knowing it’s not right, “Dean!?”
He turns the laptop to face him, “Fuck!”
“What is it?” I cringe, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to click anything!”
“Malware,” Dean grits out, “Shit, I need to stop it.”
“What does that mean!?” I watch him work, clicking several things and typing quickly.
“Someone is attempting to steal the data from my hard drive.”
“Oh God,” I wrap my arms around myself as I watch him work. “I’m so sorry!”
Dean types fast, his fingers moving across the keyboard with a script forming on the screen. With the work he does, I can only imagine the stuff someone could steal from him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“It’s not your fault,” He assures me, “I just need to get this fixed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just takes his laptop and heads to the basement, shutting and locking the door behind him. I remain where I am. Lily is already in bed, fast asleep if the monitor is anything to go by, and with him downstairs, the house is quiet.
I don’t like it.
So, before the anxiety kicks in, I decide to make dinner, going to the fridge to figure out what I can do based on the ingredients we have. I decide on an oven baked Beef and Broccoli casserole and pull it all out, prepping and chopping — mindless work that keeps me occupied enough I don’t think too much. When it’s all done, I place the dish in the oven and get to work on the potatoes.
