Page 30 of Love You To Pieces

“What are you doing?” I can’t help asking, and I turn just enough to see him from the corner of my eye. To my absolute surprise, Fox has a brush in his hand, and he looks at me with brows raised at my incredulous look.

“What does it look like?” He chuckles as his free hand comes out to gently push me back to face the window, where the sun is setting and painting the sky with purples and oranges.

Gorgeous.

I rarely get to see the sunset quite so perfectly in the city. More than that, I’m not usually in a position to really stop and appreciate it.

When he starts humming again, I speak up without thinking, cutting him off to ask, “So what song is that? Is it something you made up? Or…?”

His small snort is rough and full of amusement. It’s unexpected, as is the gentle way he sections out my hair to run the brush through it. Being somewhat tender-headed, I brace for him to hit a tangle, but when he does, Fox uses his hand to wrap around the section of my hair to keep the brush from pulling as he works through the knot. It’s surprisingly thoughtful, and my hands reluctantly unclench from the fabric of my flannel shirt when he doesn’t make me tear up.

No one except my mother has ever thought to do that for me before.

Not either of my boyfriends, not my stylist, and most of the time, not myself either.

“It’s called ‘Never Say Never to Always,’” Fox answers, drawing me out of my suddenly tumbling thoughts.

“Hmm?” For a second, I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my cluelessness makes Fox chuckle.

“The song. That’s what it’s called.”

“I’ve never heard of that in my life.” The title doesn’t even sound vaguely familiar, and I wonder if it’s some old hippie music or country song from a decade long before I was born, much like this entire house is.

Suddenly, Fox leans in, his nose brushing my hair as he takes a breath. I expect some whisper, some taunt or jibe about me being too young to appreciate the music.

What I don’t expect is for him to start singing softly, in barely more than a murmur beside my ear.

“Always is always, forever.

As long as one is one.

Inside yourself for your father,

All is none, all is none, all is one.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, even as my brain works to put together the meaning of the lyrics. They’re sweet, I think, in an absolutely creepy kind of way. And I shake my head slightly as he hums once more, though his voice really is suited to singing.

“I’ve definitely never heard it,” I admit after a few more moments, trying to focus on something other than the soft feeling of him brushing my hair.

Like he actually cares, though he has no reason to.

If he did, he’d let me go.

“Of course you haven’t.” Deacon’s voice by the door makes me jump, and I glance over to see him leaning in the doorway, quiet as a cat.

How long has he been standing there?

A smile curves over his handsome, sharp features, though it never reaches his eyes. “It’s by Charles Manson. Most people only know it because it’s what his girls sang on the way to court.” As I watch, Deacon drifts away, looking bored with us, leaving Fox to snicker against my hair.

“He’s such a jerk,” he insults fondly, and I don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s pulled me back against his chest to run the brush through my bangs and the hair framing my face. “There you go,” Fox murmurs, talking to me like a pet he’s cleaned up. “That’s much better. You’re much better, aren’t you Sadie-Rae?”

My stomach flips as he says my name and I turn to look at him, eyes a little wide and full of confusion.

Not that I get to ask whatever question I have brewing. As if I’ve given him an invitation, Fox suddenly kisses me sweetly, not at all demanding, but still all-encompassing. I take a breath against his lips, my shoulders pressed to his chest, and I swear I can feel my eyes wanting to drift closed.

I should not be relaxing into this.

But I don’t get to bolt away from him, or shove him, or anything else. Fox is the first to move, smooth and lithe, getting to his feet to place the brush on the end table beside the bed. “I’m not going to lock you in,” he tells me, already halfway to the door. But he turns to meet my gaze, his smile somehow sharp and a little bit threatening.