Chapter 35
Gavin
MY GIRLS
It’s almost two in the morning when I walk through the front door, exhausted, dragging my feet—and I nearly trip over myself at the sight before me.
Scottie and Lily are curled up on the couch, passed out. A heavy sensation hits my chest, knocking the wind straight out of me. I stand frozen, watching them breathe in sync. So peaceful. So right. My girls, fast asleep.
My girls.
What I wouldn’t give for this to be our life.
I drop my bag where I stand. Quiet as I can manage, I toe off my boots and step closer.
Lily’s head is on Scottie’s shoulder, her tiny hand clutching onto Scottie’s shirt, like she wanted something to hold on to even in her sleep.
Scottie’s chin rests on top of Lily’s hair, her breathing soft and steady.
The day I had—the bullshit, the stress—evaporates. Just gone.
I don’t want to wake either of them, but Lily will be stiff as a board if she sleeps like that all night. So I lean in and slide one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. She stirs but doesn’t wake, just burrows into my chest like she used to when she was younger.
Scottie startles a little when Lily moves. Her eyelashes flutter, a soft exhale leaving her.
“Gavin?” she whispers, still half-asleep.
“Go back to sleep,” I murmur. “I’ve got her.”
She nods and melts back into the cushions.
I carry Lily upstairs and tuck her into bed, brushing her hair off her forehead before I leave.
When I make my way back downstairs, Scottie is sitting up now, knees pulled to her chest, hair mussed and eyes heavy. Even tired, she still looks sexy.
Even sexier in one of my shirts.
“How was the drive,” she says, voice thick with sleep.
“Long.” I sit beside her, pulling her against me, and she immediately sinks into my embrace.
For a few seconds, it’s quiet—just her breathing against my chest, the sound of the old clock ticking across the room.
“So,” I start, casually, “on the phone earlier you said—”
“Nope,” she says quickly. “We’re not talking about it.” She nuzzles into my chest, trying to hide her face.
I smile to myself and decide not to tease her about it. Even though it was the highlight of my day, up until I walked though the front door.
“You smell very sweet,” her muffled voice says against me. I feel her inhale, nose pressed into my shirt. “Like… really sweet.”
She sits up, face scrunched—so fucking cute.
I laugh. “It’s the glycol.”
She sniffs again, dead serious. “You need to shower.”
I yank her back toward me, locking my arms so she can’t get away. “But I missed you. I just want to hold my girl.”
She giggles quietly. “Well then hold me in the shower because it’s awful.”
I don’t need to be told twice. A shower with my wife is exactly what I need after the hellscape that was today.
“Come on then,” she murmurs, pushing up from the couch, still wobbly with sleep. She stretches, arms overhead, a groaning sigh slipping past her lips that makes my cock jerk against my zipper.
I follow her up the stairs, hands finding her hips on instinct. She glances back, eyes warm and heavy-lidded.
In the bathroom, she reaches for the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward. The fabric sticks, damp from the mess I was in, and she has to peel it from my skin.
She makes a face.
“Oh yeah. Definitely glycol.” She scrunches her nose again, but she’s smiling.
“I told you,” I say, voice low.
Her fingers skim the waistband of my jeans, and my body comes alive under her delicate touch.
Her gaze drops when I shove my jeans down my hips.
I see the exact moment her eyes land on my tattoo—the one she’s obsessed with for some reason.
Her breath catches, just barely, as her eyes trace the roots and branches inked across my skin.
I can’t help but stand a little taller, knowing she likes what she sees.
I want her.
I want to fuck her slowly against the shower wall with her legs hooked around my waist, drilling into her until we both come.
But I know she’s tired.
And so am I.
I step closer, hands framing her waist. “You sure you’re awake enough for this? You can go lie down while I finish up in here.”
She laughs softly, eyes darting up to meet mine. “I’ve been awake since I got a lungful of the chemistry lab wafting off you. Believe me, I’m wide awake.”
“So dramatic.” I tease. “The glycol smell isn’t even strong.”
She drops her chin, doe-eyes flaring. “Of course I’m dramatic. Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
I pull her close, so we’re flush. “Damn right I like it.” My head dips, kissing the spot beneath her ear. “I fucking love it.”
She giggles, her face flooding a pinkish hue as she gently shoves me away.
We finish undressing, our movement unhurried. The shower kicks on, steam curling up around us, fogging the mirror. I pull her in with me, warm water hitting my shoulders, sliding down my back.
She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her forehead against my chest. And something about that—about being held like this—hits harder than the kiss did.
“I love coming home to you,” I murmur under the fall of spray.
She tilts her head, chin resting on my chest to meet my eyes, droplets of water clinging to her lashes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I echo.
We stay like that, holding each other as the water pours over us.
We don’t have sex.
We just wash each other.
And somehow, it feels more intimate than anything else ever could.
When we crawl into bed, she drapes her body over mine, and falls asleep almost instantly.
But despite how tired I am, I stay awake for hours, holding her, breathing her, memorizing her.
Just in case I lose her.