Chapter 23
AVA
This is the first Saturday I haven’t worked since moving into Anderson’s place.
Luckily, Georgie’s extracurriculars usually line up with my shifts at Hey Honey’s, along with the hours she’s at school.
And when they don’t, the free hot chocolates I offer her and her friends become a necessary bribe to convince her she’s perfectly happy hanging out there, so I can keep an eye on them.
The home visits and court dates have also kept us busy. Since my mom signed away her parental rights, things have been moving quickly. We just need the marriage certificate, and Patricia will recommend approval for the adoption.
Rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, I let myself relax into the warm water, reminding myself that Georgie’s at soccer practice now, and one of the moms is taking a group of them out for lunch after.
She’s where she needs to be.
She has her cell phone if she needs to contact me.
She’s safe.
This is also Anderson’s first Saturday off since we moved in here—he should be coming through the front door any minute—but I’ve learned he tends to come home with the same higher thinking power as a zombie and spends the first twelve hours after a shift sleeping.
Anderson’s after-work habits are just a few of the many things I’ve learned since living with him.
Grabbing my loofah and pouring a generous amount of body wash on it, I lather the bubbles all over my skin. The lavender scent has me relaxing even more, my mind drifting to the man I’m going to be marrying in a week.
Being under the same roof as him but on different schedules means I learn about Anderson in pieces and from a distance.
The mug he always leaves by the sink. The way his shoes land in the same spot by the door.
The quiet hum of music I hear drifting from under his bedroom door at night when I can’t sleep.
I notice what he fixes without being asked and what he ignores, the small habits that aren’t meant for anyone’s eyes.
It’s intimate, in a way I wasn’t expecting when Georgie and I moved in here.
I think when you share a space with someone, even when you’re on opposite routines, you learn how they occupy spaces when they don’t expect to be witnessed.
I’ve also seen the way the qualities that I’ve come to know of his are shown through his actions—the way he’s careful not to slam a door, no matter what time he gets home.
The way he texts me before he goes to the grocery store in case I need anything.
The way he leaves things in the exact place I left them, even if I was the one to move them to begin with.
It’s like he’s used to weaving his life with others, putting them and their needs before his own—it’s familiar.
Maybe because I know what that feels like. Forming habits based on what we do for others, tricking ourselves into thinking they’re ours.
Letting the stream fall over my face, I hear the front door of the house open and click closed, just audible over the rush of the water.
Soft footsteps make their way through the house I’ve come to know over these last three weeks, stopping as the bedroom door opens.
With both Anderson’s and the guestroom I’m staying in sharing this bathroom, I made sure to close the door on the side that leads to his bedroom, so when I hear the knob turn, my breath hitches.
“Anderson?” I call out, but he doesn’t answer.
Because he’s sliding open the glass shower door.
It takes him a moment to register me, but I can see it on his face the moment it does.
His eyes widen to a point that looks painful, especially with the dark circles underneath. His face turns beet red as he quickly turns around, quickly sliding the door shut and pressing his back against it.
“Fuck, Ava. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes. “I honestly think I’m half-asleep right now, and it took me until this moment to realize that the shower was on because you were in it, not because I turned it on.”
The pleading in his voice has me rolling my lips together to hide my smile, my heart feeling like it’s being squeezed.
He’s so fucking cute.
“It’s no big deal,” I tell him.
“Seriously, love. I feel like such an idiot.” Through the clouded glass, I see his hand come up to his head, and I can picture the way he runs it through his hair.
“I barely got any sleep last night between calls, and then my uncle brought me into his office this morning for a conversation I was not prepared for.” He exhales, letting his head fall back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m so damn tired.” His voice cracks.
Neither of us says anything, just the water filling the silence.
I don’t know if it’s the caretaking tendencies that come with being an eldest daughter or the emotion I hear in his voice, but something has me sliding the door, opening it back up slowly.
Anderson straightens, turning to face me.
He keeps his eyes on mine, not letting them stray, but it looks like he’s struggling to keep them open.
We’re both naked, like we have been before, but this time feels different. There’s no rush or urgency like there has been in the past.
My mind drifts to the last night we spent together, the first night he ever woke up to me leaving. Every other night, I was able to sneak out while he was still asleep.
There was something different about that night.
Like it was the start of something, something I wasn’t ready for but had no choice but to accept.
Little did I know that Georgie would call me and change my life forever.
That must have been where the feeling came from.
The universe somehow knew Anderson and I were going to be tied together—but just for a little while.
My eyes roam Anderson’s features, and I can see the exhaustion on his face, in his heavy-lidded, unfocused gaze. His blinks drag, like each one is a battle to keep his eyes open. His shoulders are slumped, as if just standing upright on his feet is taking all of his energy.
“Come here,” I whisper, reaching out for his arm, my wet palm dragging over his skin until I find his hand.
He just looks at me, a hint of confusion now in his features, but he doesn’t say anything.
So I say it again. “Come here.”
This time, I pull him to me.
And he lets me.
He steps into the shower, and I lead him until his back is against the stream. “Lean your head forward,” I instruct.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t let myself think about it as I reach up and run my hands through his hair, the waves getting darker as the water washes over them, our bodies pressed together under the stream.
Anderson’s eyes fall closed, his hands tentatively coming to my waist to help keep himself steady.
Reaching for the shampoo, I squeeze some into my hands before rubbing them together.
He hums, low and guttural, as I work the shampoo into his hair, his fingers pushing harder into my skin as he squeezes my waist.
My nails scratch against his scalp before I let my palms fall to his neck, easing his head back into the stream, washing away all the soap.
I feel him go hard against my stomach, but he doesn’t make a move to do anything about it—neither of us does.
While there is tension between us—I think there always will be—all of it dissipates in this moment, leaving nothing but the raw, exposed parts that we’re both committed to keeping hidden.
Committed to even accepting that they are there.
“Ava,” Anderson whispers. His eyes are still closed, his grip still tight, my chest pressed against his. “What are you doing?”
I keep my voice low, as if whispering will keep this moment from getting too real. “I’m washing your hair.”
He slightly opens one eye, his lips curving to one side before he closes it again. “Yes, I gathered that.”
There’s no light in the shower, and the deep gray tiles make the space much darker.
Seeing his chiseled chin, his blushing cheeks, his full lips—dripping with water in a way that belongs in an art museum—as he looks down at me has my body forgetting that this isn’t the middle of the night; this isn’t one of the nights I’ve stolen with him; this isn’t losing myself in the feeling of him to help get myself out of my head.
But it’s just as fake as those moments.
Because now, we’re pretending they meant something.
And at the time, I was pretending they didn’t.
“Then why did you ask?” I use my hands to gently wipe away the bubbles gathering on his face.
“Forgive me, because I am fucking exhausted and part of me thinks I’m hallucinating, but I didn’t realize this was something we did together.”
I can’t help but chuckle, and Anderson’s lips curve at the sound, his eyes still closed.
I grab the conditioner and lather it in my hands.
There are enough lies surrounding us, so I decide to go with the truth.
“Something tells me you’re not used to being taken care of. ” I run my fingers through his hair.
“I’d argue the same goes for you,” he says.
I snort. “Deflecting doesn’t suit you, sunshine. You’re too handsome.”
“Careful,” he squeezes my waist. “I’m too tired to pretend right now. And you don’t want me pouring my heart out to you.” He says it like a joke, but I can’t ignore the truth he layers into the words.
Pretend.
But right now, in the darkness of this shower—my fingers tangled in his hair, the way he’s holding onto my waist as if I’m the only thing keeping him standing—I want something to be real. “What did you talk about with your uncle?”
Anderson sighs as I rinse out the conditioner from his hair. My palms find his shoulders, just under where the stream of the shower hits him directly. He doesn’t answer at first, keeping his eyes closed.
After a few moments, he lets go of me, wiping the water from his eyes, and I miss the contact immediately. The water still runs warm, but I feel my body go cold, rejection stinging my insides.
But then, he opens his eyes, settling his hands on my hips, and I notice how bloodshot they are. The caramel of his irises doesn’t have the usual shine within them, and it causes a crack in my chest.