Chapter Twenty Two
? Isla ?
Nick kissed me this morning.
He pulled me into his arms and claimed my mouth until I couldn’t feel my knees. It surprised me because I fully expected him to come to his senses and realize I’m not worth the hassle he and Walker are going through.
But he scoops me up when I slump into his chest and carries me into the next room where a fire roars in the hearth and the scent of sweet pancakes soaks the air. A stack waits for me on the counter, fat and fluffy with drizzling syrup and butter.
It’s way too much for a single person. I know I can’t finish all that, but I’m given no chance to voice my protest when Nick sets me in his lap at the table and Dom takes the seat next to us with the monstrous plate of pancakes.
He turns his body so he’s facing us and slides the fork through the first chunk.
“Did you leave anything at the house, baby?” he asks, bringing the first forkful to my lips.
I accept and shake my head in response.
“We’re going to start out of town when we leave,” Nick informs me. “Do you want to stop anywhere before we go?”
I get another mouthful and rock my head again.
“When we get home, we’ll make plans to get your stuff,” Dom says, cutting up another chunk but taking it to Nick’s mouth over my shoulder. “We don’t care if you want to work or you can stay home—”
“Work,” I garble around my mouthful. I swallow and repeat myself. “I like working.”
Dom nods and pops a forkful into his own mouth. “It’s going to take some adjusting for all of us. There’s going to be things that we each need to get used to, but our number one rule is we talk. We communicate. There is nothing we can’t figure out if we just talk about it, okay?”
I nod because I don’t know what else to say. I know communication is important and I know I want to be with them. I want to make this work. I just don’t know how.
“I’m going to work on it,” I whisper.
Nick’s finger slips beneath my chin and tips it up to his. The pad of his thumb brushes along my jawline as he peers into my eyes.
“We’ll work on it together.”
It’s not going to be easy. But even now, as I sit there and think what a bad decision they’re making, a deeper, stronger part of me refuses to let go.
And maybe, that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what I need to hang on to.
That voice. That unwavering stubbornness telling me I can’t leave them.
I think maybe I also need therapy. An unbiased professional who won’t simply tell me what I want to hear.
I don’t think Nick would. Dom... he’d spare my feelings.
But maybe I need an adult who will work through these feelings with me and help me be better for my boys and myself.
Small, careful changes.
“I’d like that,” I murmur.