Chapter 19 #2
Smith shifted his positioning on my bed so he could talk at me while I reassembled the fish home by my sink.
“I’m not.”
“You drive a Range Rover,” I reminded him.
Smith shrugged, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.
“I didn’t grow up with money,” he said. “My mom didn’t take the deal, you know. It took me a long time to get used to the extravagance.”
“But you managed.”
He chewed at the inside of his cheek, and I dumped the rainbow rocks into the bottom of the fish bowl.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he said.
“You got a college education out of it.”
“I got a lot out of it.” Smith’s mouth pulled into an adorable little frown that made him look a lot like a kicked puppy. He was going to be a handful for someone someday, that was for sure. He wasn’t quite a brat, but the way that man needed a fucking Daddy was a study for the textbooks.
“Worth it in the end?” I asked, shoving a plastic stalk of leaves into the rocks, then another.
“Sometimes I’m not sure.”
“I think it’s easy to be jaded on silver spoons when you’re surrounded by them.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that, and I worried it might have been a little harsh. I filled the bowl with water and carried it back to the dresser, sitting down beside Smith on the bed before dealing with the fish transfer.
“You look like you need a hug,” I said, pulling him into my arms before he could argue with me.
Smith came easily, allowing me to pull his much taller and lankier frame halfway onto my lap without so much as a single protest. He weighed more than I remembered, and I grunted through rearranging our bodies on the bed so I could prop myself—and him—against the wall.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, cheek pressed against my chest, and I sighed, kissing the top of his hair.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked. “I’ve been very focused on me and my fish, and I’m also used to Silas telling me everything without prompting. You seem like the type to need prompting.”
Smith’s shoulders jiggled with a laugh, and I held him tighter.
“I’m just questioning everything.” He squeezed me, then unfolded himself from my arms and collapsed onto his back beside me.
“Everything could mean a lot of things.”
“When I was younger, I really wanted to be just like Marshall. I even went into design because of him. I drink wine because of him.”
I didn’t say a word.
“I love my brother. I love all of them, but they’re all so…” he trailed off, frowning himself into that puppy look again.
“Controlling,” I offered. The word I’d wanted to use was dominant, but…
“That’s a nice way to put it.”
“They love you,” I said. “I don’t know Marshall well, but it’s clear how much he cares about you and your feelings. He would do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“And Hunter,” I added, because I did know that Covington brother better than the rest, and Hunter’s devotion was unmatched. “I’m sure Finn too.”
“Sometimes, it feels like I can’t make decisions for myself. Like there’s this Covington mold, and I can’t get out of it.”
I thought about what I knew of Smith, and of Marshall, and of Hunter, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to get out of that mold.
All the Covington men I knew were thoughtful, devoted, and loyal beyond measure.
But I also appreciated that I viewed all of them and their lives from the outside.
Smith was the one who’d lived it. He would know better than anyone else the burdens and responsibilities.
“Your brothers are smothering,” I tried, and he nodded, flinging an arm over his eyes. “You can’t figure things out for yourself because they’re always offering their ideas for you before you even get the chance.”
“How did you know?” he asked with a watery laugh.
“I know their type,” I said, noncommittally.
Smith groaned, rolling onto his stomach and folding his arms together beneath his head to form a makeshift pillow.
“Your fish is staring at that bowl like it’s heaven,” he said, the words garbled around his arm. “You should let them into it.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself really or the fish. Wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or the fish.
“You’re right,” I agreed anyway, sliding away from him and scooting toward my dresser.
Careful as could be, I transferred Cassandra Jr.—which definitely felt like the wrong name—from their plastic takeout container into the forever bowl.
As soon as they landed in the water, their tail frilled up and they swam in a circle before settling into a calm and quiet float in the middle of the bowl.
“How’re they doing?” Smith asked, crawling across my bed and propping his chin on my shoulder.
We both watched the fish hover in the water, and even though I didn’t know how to explain it, they just looked a lot happier in their new environment.
“Sometimes change is good,” I murmured.
Smith licked his lips, the movement gouging his chin down into the soft meat of my shoulder.
“Sometimes,” he agreed, then a long pause before asking, “What are you going to call this one? They’re not a Cassandra.”
“I know.” I tilted my head to the side to rest against his. “Phoenix feels right, but also too on the nose.”
“I’d say Finn, but that’s my brother’s name.”
“Feeny?” I tried. “Short for Phoenix, and we’ll just never tell anyone that?”
Smith nodded his head beside mine. “Feeny is a good name.”
We watched Feeny swim around the bowl, feeling out the space before making a big loop around the stalk of leaves. Yeah, the fish was definitely happy to be home, and I hoped that eventually I would be too.