12. Lake
12
LAKE
PEN: Are you sure you still want me to stay with you?
I stare at the message, wondering if she’s really asking or if Carter planted this doubt in her mind. I hate that she’d even question it.
Question us.
LAKE: Always, Pen
PEN: I could stay with Oma
LAKE: I want you here
PEN: Promise?
LAKE: Yes
PEN: What if you get sick of me?
LAKE: Then I’ll send you to Oma’s overnight
LAKE: But, Pen, I’m always gonna want you back
PEN: Tell me tomorrow
LAKE: I will.
LAKE: And every day after
“Is that Penelope?” my mother asks as she stirs the pot on the stove. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for her stick-to-your-ribs stew on a cold winter day.
“Yeah, she’s coming home tomorrow.”
“And she’s staying with you?” Her tone is light and full of faux innocence.
“Why are you asking?” I say with an equally sweet tone as I place my phone face down and rest my forearms on the granite bar top.
“She’s being nosy is all.” My father laughs as he plants a kiss on her cheek, making her huff and unable to hide her smile.
“I’m your mother; I raised you,” she sniffs. “I’m allowed to be nosy.”
“Pen is staying with me.”
“Pen is what?” Wren asks as she bursts into the kitchen with a reusable grocery bag that she plops down next to me.
“Staying with your brother,” our mother says, earning a confused look from my sister.
“That’s not news,” Wren deadpans before pulling a loaf of bread from the bag, “unless they’re having sex.”
My mother gasps and drops the spoon, the wood making a wet plopping sound, and my father barks out a laugh.
“Winston,” she hisses, but it only makes him laugh harder.
“Elora, they’re grown. We know they have sex, and hell, they know we do too, probably right around where you’re sitting, Lake.”
My father throws me a wink and I try my best to hold back the gagging noise as Wren snorts and my mother’s cheeks flame.
“What did I miss?” Jesse asks as he comes in, followed quickly by Beau and Reid.
“Mom’s embarrassed that Dad announced they have sex, like everywhere , Lake is not having sex with Pen yet,”—she holds up the sourdough—“and I brought bread.”
“Bourbon,” Beau says to no one in particular, bypassing the kitchen and heading straight for the liquor cabinet.
And hell, we’re all gonna need it.
Even though Beau was the first to pull out the bourbon, he didn’t drink much, which was lucky for the rest of us as we all needed a ride home after that. Somewhere between my teens and adulthood, my father decided that nothing was off the table.
Prostate exam coming up? Sure.
Peeing a little to the left? Fine.
Places in the house he’s had sex with my mother?
Absolutely the fuck not.
Wren hadn’t stopped cackling the entire night, goading my father into divulging the locations which resulted in the rest of us standing with our bowls in the middle of the room.
I’m happy for them but I definitely don’t need the details.
I’d been tempted to keep drinking when I got home just to erase the entire night from my mind but I couldn’t—not with Pen coming home. So I relegated myself to the couch with a bottle of water and a roaring fire.
It’s a little after midnight when the front door creaks open, and Pen winces as soon as her tired eyes meet mine.
“I thought you’d be sleeping,” she says quietly, toeing her boots off and dropping her purse on the floor. Propping my hand behind my head, I watch her as she crosses the room and crawls onto the couch until she’s wedged herself between my side and the back cushions. Her head is on my chest, one arm and leg draped over me as she sighs.
“Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” she says quietly. “You get into the whiskey tonight?”
“Bourbon.”
Lifting her head, her eyes sparkle as they find mine, the corner of her mouth tipping up in the corner. “Family dinner?”
“Yeah, but my father wanted to make sure none of us ever sit down in the house again,” I grouse as I recount the whole sordid night. Pen laughs, the swell of her breasts practically spilling out of the top of her shirt.
Why did I want to wait again?
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she murmurs, her eyes darting to my lips then back to my eyes.
“I missed you .”
She takes my words as the invitation they are and covers my mouth with hers, my arm banding around her back to hold her tighter against me. We fit perfectly like this— like we always do. “Fuck,” I murmur against her lips, “tell me you’re done with him.”
“I’m done,” she breathes, rocking her hips against my leg with a little whimper.
“We can’t go any farther than this,” I manage as I hook my hand in the back of her knee to pull her wider and tighter against me.
“Lake—”
“Don’t push me on this,” I growl. “We shouldn’t even be doing this, but dammit you feel good.” My words are strained, as she nips her teeth along my jaw, sending sparks of desire through me.
“Why?” she asks, moving back to my mouth and licking her tongue against mine.
“Because we said Christmas.”
“ You said Christmas.”
“Pen.”
“Lake,” she mocks. “Let me kiss you. This is the first time I’ve ever been allowed.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours for not having the balls to ask me out.”
“You can judge my balls for yourself after Christmas.”
She giggles, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck, the desperation of moments ago dissipating with each exhale.
“Hey, Lake?”
“Hmm?” I hum, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and haphazardly draping it over both of us.
“Thanks for letting me come home to you.”
“You’re home for me too, Pen.”
You always have been.