“Sly?”
“Yes?”
“You know I can dry my own hair, right?”
I place the brush down and pull the corded dryer off the wall mount as I nod. “Would you prefer to do it yourself?” She doesn’t answer straight away, and I place my free hand on her shoulder and squeeze it. “Really, Wren, I won’t be upset if you’d prefer to do it yourself. But I would like to take care of you.”
“Do you… Do you mind? Drying it, I mean?”
I try not to grin at her as I clarify, “You want me to do it?”
She nods. “I’ve done my own hair since I was five. I’m curious what it’s like.”
“Well, let me enlighten you. Then you can decide which way you prefer.”
I grab the brush and turn the dryer on. Slowly, I work through her hair, drying it, strand by strand, until it lies in a glossy curtain around her shoulders.
“There. How was that?” I ask, turning her to face me.
“If I tell you I loved it, would you do it every time I wash my hair?" she asks, seeming half serious.
“Consider it done.” I open the door and press my hand to her back, guiding her into the room.
Pete and Dex are already lying in bed with a Wren-sized space between them, and that Bachelorette show she loves playing on the TV.
I try not to bristle as she moves toward Dex. I get it. They’re the fun ones. They make things lighthearted and easy for her. She needs them to bring light to her fucked-up life.
I hear her whispering to Dex and Pete as I pull off my shirt and pants. We’d managed to make one stop today, deciding we didn’t want to wait another day for clean boxers. I’ll be happy when all the clothes we ordered online arrive over the next two days. I much prefer a neatly pressed dress shirt and crisp dress pants to a T-shirt and joggers.
Switching off the reading light, I settle in under the blanket, Jagger already having done the same beside me. I watch as Wren walks around them, then moves up between the beds, eyeing me nervously. She stops right beside me, her fingers twisting together nervously as she looks down at them.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, as I move to sit up. Her eyes catch on my bare chest, and her mouth parts, her eyes growing wide. I try not to puff my chest out in approval ofher perusal. Her eyes travel the route of my tattoos from my right hand all the way up to my neck.
“Wren?” I ask again when she doesn’t speak.
She shakes her head, as if coming out of a daze, and part of me settles, knowing she likes what she sees.
“I was wondering, do you think it’d be okay if I slept with you two tonight?” As she speaks, her eyes bounce from mine to Jagger’s over my shoulder.
Instead of responding verbally, I grab her waist and hoist her over me as Jagger yanks the blanket down between us.
We agree on something after all.
She lets out a small squeak of surprise, but quickly settles between us as we pull up the blanket over her lap. She beams up at Jagger, then turns her dazzling smile on me.
“You don’t mind?” she asks.
“If it were up to me, you’d sleep beside me every night,” I tell her. Jagger squeezes her hand and nods, as if to agree.
“Okay, good. Because I spent last night with them, plus all day in the car.”
“Tired of us already, angel?” Pete calls teasingly from the other bed.
“Of course not!” she says, sounding a little horrified, before adding on quieter just for us, “I just missed you two.”
Long ago, I thought my heart was dead, that I might actually be a psychopath, as I cared for nobody and killed without mercy. But having Wren in my life has taught me that that isn’t true. She lights a fire in me that I never knew could exist. And hearing her say she missed me, even though I’ve been in the exact vehicle as her all day, makes my heart start to beat a little faster.
I lie back, and she follows. Grabbingher hand over the blanket, I stare up at the ceiling. The TV plays quietly, keeping the room from total silence, and when I glance over at her, I see her biting her lip.
