Page 66 of Love You To Pieces

“Of course not, Sadie,” Deacon replies without hesitating. “You really think I’d…?” He shakes his head, looking affronted at the idea. “I’m not the monster you think I am.” He softens, just a little, making me see a side of him I never knew existed.

Our silent stare-down lasts another few seconds before I break the stillness to walk around the bed. Fox is definitely asleep, and I’m sure Deacon had something to do with that, given how irritated he was at Fox’s gallant acting that everything was fine and he didn’t need assistance.

“Is he okay?” My words are softer than I mean them to sound, but it feels right in the dim light from the bedside table lamp. “He’s okay, yeah?”

I can feel Deacon’s eyes on me, and I can hear his soft, long exhale from the chair he pulled up to the side of the bed. It squeaks as he leans back in it, and without really thinking about what I’m doing, I walk around it to sink down to the floor, sitting in front of Deacon with my legs crossed under me on the carpet.

“Yeah, Sadie,” Deacon murmurs, and without another word, he leans forward so his legs are framing my shoulders. His hands come out, fingers running through my hair in a way that feels incredibly different from the way Fox does this, though no less pleasurable.

I can’t help myself. I lean back against him, feeling like a cat getting loved on. If I could purr, I so would right now.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, never looking away from Fox. “I’m so sorry, Deacon. I didn’t know that they were looking for me. I didn’t know…” I trail off, not sure what else to say.

We sit like that for a few minutes, with Deacon petting my hair and keeping me against him, until finally he pushes to his feet and helps me up as well. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go downstairs. He’d be so full of himself if he wakes up and finds we’re watching him sleep.”

I follow him, my bare feet quiet on the hardwood. I’d found a pair of boxer shorts left for me outside the bathroom when I showered, and coupled with the black, v-neck tee I’m now wearing, I feel comfortable and surrounded by the brothers’ scents.

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this soothing. Nor should I want this so badly. I crave the safety, the comfort, the quiet of this house like I’ve never craved anything else in my life.

Suddenly there’s a biscuit under my nose, and I take it from Deacon, surveying the bread made by Ms. Hewitt. “So is she like a champion baker?” I ask, biting down on the surprisingly fluffy biscuit even before Deacon has a chance to offer me the butter he’s slathering all over his. “Hiding her identity in Wolf Lake so, I don’t know, Hostess doesn’t come after her?”

Deacon snorts and puts the butter back, then turns to look at me before hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter. “Adorable,” he tells me with a mouth full of bread. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy, you know that?” He reaches out suddenly to touch my face, giving me a softer smile than I’m used to from him. Without another word, Deacon jumps down from the counter and tugs me through the house, down the hallway, until he can sit down on the sofa in the living room.

“I can’t really go to sleep,” he yawns. “Not yet. I want to check on Fox a few more times before I crash. But you can, you know.” He glances over at me, but I shake my head, finishing the biscuit.

“Not tired,” I lie. But that’s not true at all. I’m exhausted. The guilt is just too much for me to ignore, and I feel like I’m going to be chewed apart by it.

It’s my fault Fox is hurt. It’s my fault⁠—

Suddenly, I’m no longer on my side of the sofa. Instead, Deacon has pulled me onto his lap, arranging me across his legs so he can meet my eyes. “Poor little prey,” he says tiredly. “You just can’t decide whether you’re coming or going, can you?” I can see his exhaustion, and it only makes me feel guiltier. I don’t want him to have to be this tired.

I wish he could sleep.

“I could check on Fox for you,” I offer, though Deacon gives me a shrewd, scrutinizing glance at the words. “What?” Embarrassment makes me sharp. “I just need to make sure he’s still breathing, right? I’ll bring a mirror up and make sure it gets foggy when I put it under his nose. Not that hard.”

But he shakes his head, moving once more until he’s lounging against the arm of the sofa with me in his lap, our legs tangled together. His chest is warm, and I’m warmer still when he pulls a soft and worn fleece blanket over me. It’s the kind of blanket you can’t buy, but one that’s been touched and used so much over the years that it feels so natural when it settles over you.

So homey.

The TV comes on, making me jump, and Deacon kisses my temple as he turns it to some random cooking show and turns the volume down. “Sadie-Rae, you need to sleep,” he says again, and when I try to argue, he adds, “I’m not making a suggestion; you’ve been up all night, trekking your ass into town, and killing a guy. You. Need. To. Sleep.”

“Sure.” But there’s no emotion in the whispered word. No matter what he says, I’m not going to sleep. Even his warmth and the comfort of his body aren’t enough. I’ll be up until he checks on Fox to make sure there’s nothing else he needs.

Deacon sighs, but doesn’t argue.

For a few minutes, I’m convinced I’ve won this argument. That he’s seen my resolve and respects it.

But that’s stupid of me, I realize, when his hands stroke along my thighs, dragging up the material of the boxers I’m wearing.

Everywhere he touches leaves gooseflesh until I’m squirming and flinching under his hands as they wander closer and closer to⁠—

“What are you doing?” I demand sharply, looking back at him. Deacon looks at me, feigned confusion on his face.

“What do you mean?” But I can see the wicked gleam in his ocean-blue eyes. I know he’s fucking with me. “I’m just watching TV with you until my alarm goes off. Isn’t it obvious?” His gaze dares me to argue, and I find I don’t have it in me to do that. If he’s just wanting to fuck with me, then the best thing I can do, I tell myself, is to ignore him.

He’ll get bored…eventually.

It takes ten minutes for me to admit he is not getting bored. The sky is just beginning to lighten outside the window, and even though I’ve been convinced four times now that he’s done, Deacon’s hands keep coming back to touch me. Soft, teasing touches along my hips, my stomach, and my thighs, though he never looks at me and the only things he says are comments about whatever we’re watching. He has a lot of opinions on cooking techniques, it seems, though I’m not really listening.