“I’ll watch him,” she says as if it’s that easy, as if she’ll protect him.
Something about her gaze says she will. The hurt clears from her eyes and she puts on a smile for Liam, offering to play games. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but he can read into things – not into her apparently.
Or maybe I just pay more attention.
Either way, the next three days are pure torment. I dream of Sofia, of her crying and whimpering, trying to reach out to me as I walk away even though I think I’m walking towards her. During the day, it’s not any better. She gives me that confused,questioning look with an undercurrent of hurt and desire anytime we see each other and Liam isn’t letting ‘space’ happen.
He invites her to every dinner every night and she turns him down gently, but tonight she doesn’t. She comes over and afterIcook, I walk away. I don’t need to confuse the girl more. I don’t need to see more hurt in her eyes, I don’t need to see her pain, her suffering, her accusations. I can’t keep seeing the pain on her face and continue to do nothing about it, but I don’t have a clue what to do about it.
I can’t promise her that I’m going to be all in. I can’t give her the ecstasy and normal life she wants. There’s so much I just don’t know how to provide her. She deserves better and not giving her anything is better than pretending I have more to offer.
I give them an hour and a half for dinner, but then hear Sofia. I move towards the doorway and find her reading Liam’s favorite bedtime story. The one about the dinosaur. Her voice is a soft lullaby, wonderful and entrancing. She doesn’t trip over a word, seems to measure it out so it’s like a song. It’s so comforting that I’m drawn in, moving closer despite telling my feet to do the opposite.
Liam’s breathing goes even and he doesn’t try to interrupt. Doesn’t point anything out, just settles in against her side. He’s past picture books, but this one is special to him. I watch, totally ensnared, oddly comforted by the fact that she’s so comfortable with him holding her braid in one hand as he snores against her chest. She runs her hand through his hair and rests her cheek against his head as she finishes the last page.
I shouldn’t like this view. I shouldn’t like having Sofia here and reading to my son. I shouldn’t enjoy the fact that he’s as wrapped up in her as I am. The way she gently runs her fingersthrough her hair, how she moves to restart reading when he stirs, all of it tears me up. I want her.
Giving her everything, everything I have to give and giving my son her, letting myself believe she’ll stay, that she’ll be here ... not to mention the emotions I don’t want to feel ripple through me, building on one another until they’re going to sweep away my logic.
Sofia looks up at me, bites her bottom lip, and sets the book down. She looks down at Liam and her decision is made. She’s not moving. She’d rather sleep right there than disturb him and I see that on her face as obviously as I feel my own indecision.
After another moment, a silent war between us – her wanting to stay with him, me not knowing what to do with her – I pick up my son, adjusting him in my arms without waking him, then carry him upstairs. If she stays, if she stays on that couch, I can try to explain or I can tell her it’s time she finds a place of her own.
Because I can’t keep shouldering the weight of her accusing, pained looks and my son’s desire to bring her deeper into our family. It’s too much for me to stand, especially when I know how she tastes, when I know that I’m her first. I already feel bound to her in a way that messes with my mind. Allowing this to continue is only going to make things worse.
Letting her go, accepting she could be with someone else, that they might try to own her, to use her, to fucking touch her ... it makes me just as insane. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Chapter 9 - Sofia
I hate the space between us. I hate that he leaves a room the second I walk in. The same man that told me I wouldn’t need anyone else is now acting like nothing happened between us at all. He’s acting like he didn’t take my virginity – still don’t regret it – and tell me everything I wanted to hear and more.
I could walk away, give him what he wants and never push for more. Or I could deal with this now. Everything that’s been left unsaid, the fact he snuck out of my place like a bad one-night-stand after making me feel more than I’d ever felt. How I adore his son, appreciate him for who he is, minus the fucking moodiness.
That I could leave, but I’ve seen glimpses of the real Cole. When we were in bed together, when we talked afterward and his words lulled me to sleep, when he’s taken care of me, of his son, smiled or been gentle with his words, insisted on cooking the first night after I hurt myself since I wasn’t allowed to do anything.
Cole comes back down and finds me sitting on the couch. I get up, noticing the same hesitation I saw on his face before he took Liam. The same desire, the same torn, raw expression that he’s been trying to hide.
“We’re talking about this,” I say evenly. “We are, Cole. Not because of the other night, but everything else and please don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean.”
His throat bobs and he glances around, wanting to busy his hands. I take a slow breath. “I like being here. I like Liam and I ... I like you. When you’re not moody or second guessing things or hiding things from me, I really like you. I respect you. You’re a good father, you’re a good man, but something is getting in your way. I don’t know what it is.”
“Yes you do,” he breathes.
I rub the back of my neck. I focus on him and he sits down on the couch. I sit beside him and rub my thighs. “Look, if you don’t want a relationship, tell me. I can handle it. I know sex doesn’t mean love, Cole.”
“You keep saying ...”
He shakes his head and bites his fist. Desire flies across his face, then it’s gone in the next second, showing a glimpse at something soft, something nervous. He takes a slow breath.
“I don’t regret having you as my first, but I respect myself enough to ... to cut things off if they’re going to be over. I respect myself enough to move on if I’m not wanted and if you can’t want me for whatever reason has you avoiding me ... then tell me. I’ll just be a tenant. We’ll leave it at that.”
He rubs his lower jaw – recently shaved – and takes a breath. I start to get up, but he takes my hand and draws my attention. Our eyes met and he trembles slightly.
“I told you what happened with my wife. I told you that I wasn’t there for her and ... and I’ve had my son to focus on since then. I’ve had control by being the perfect father. He’s never broken a bone. He’s never been missing. No questionablebabysitters. I’m involved at school, all of it. I make sure Ican’tlose him,” Cole says.
My brow furrows. It sounds like he’s overly controlling, but I’ve seen his version of control with his son. He never impedes on Liam’s dreams, his wants, only makes sure that his son is safe. I bite my tongue to stay quiet.
“Getting close to someone like you, who’s young, has the world ahead of her, ambitious, shockingly genuine and real and ...” he shakes his head and looks away from me. “I’m getting too close to you too fast. Faster than I’ve gotten close to anyone.”
