Chapter 22
Milow
The second I opened my eyes, my heart started beating as fast as it had the night before.
I could still feel his lips on my neck, my skin tingling where he had pressed his mouth.
I had never felt anything like that, never thought that he could make me feel even more than when he simply held my hand in secret.
Maybe it was because I wouldn’t allow myself to think further.
I wasn’t sure what was happening between us, but I didn’t want to question it.
I was scared it would end quicker than it began, and if I could feel his lips on me like that again, I didn’t want to risk it by addressing it.
When he kissed my neck last night, a thick knot built in my throat.
My body tried to find a way to let him know how good he made me feel, and I knew in moments like that, most girls would’ve made a noise.
I’ve seen it in movies and read it in books.
When something felt good, you automatically made soft sounds because you were feeling incredible.
But as much as I wanted to allow my throat to make a sound to show Ashby how nice his kisses felt, nothing came out.
Instead, I had to keep moving my hands through his hair, tugging at it to tell him I didn’t want him to stop.
There was something wrong with my throat.
I’ve always known that if I were truly capable of making even the tiniest sound, I would have a long time ago.
But no matter how hard I tried or put my mind to it, no sound ever came out.
Sometimes I wondered if it was because I had stopped talking at four years old.
Maybe I had been silent for so long that my vocal cords just rusted and stopped working.
Whatever the case, I could have Mom ask my doctor soon, since she had made an appointment, to get me checked overall and have my vaccines updated.
I was still in bed with Ashby lying next to me.
He was asleep on his side, facing me, with his right hand tucked under his cheek, and his other hand resting between us on the mattress.
His lips were slightly parted, but he was breathing slowly through his nose.
I didn’t want to wake him, knowing he enjoyed sleeping in on the weekends when he didn’t have a swim meet.
So I watched him, taking in every inch of his face.
There were faint freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks, ones that had always been there.
When he was little, the freckles were more prominent, but they had faded as he grew.
I could still see every single one. I had memorized them.
I felt the urge to lift my hand and trace them, but I kept my hands to myself, not wanting to risk waking him.
Sometime during the night, we had stopped cuddling. His arms had been around me tightly, and our legs were tangled as we fell asleep. His warmth had given me comfort, and while I wasn’t lying in his arms anymore, he was still next to me. He hadn’t left, which had to mean something.
Careful not to disturb him, I slid my legs out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. I looked back at him one last time, making sure he was still asleep, before tiptoeing out of the room.
As soon as I walked down the stairs, I could hear music drifting up from downstairs.
An upbeat eighties song was playing, and I knew Mom and Dad were making breakfast. It wasn’t unusual for them to be up early to prepare breakfast for the whole family, and when they did, they often turned up the radio.
I crept down the stairs, passing Wesley’s closed bedroom door, and when I got to the kitchen, I saw exactly what I was expecting.
Mom was at the stove, flipping pancakes in a pan while the other cooked scrambled eggs.
She was wearing her apron over her pajamas, and she was swaying her hips to the rhythm, singing along to the chorus of Depeche Mode’s Just Can’t Get Enough.
Dad was standing by the island, chopping fruit with a rhythmic precision, but he wasn’t just standing there.
Every few seconds, he’d do a little shuffle step, spinning around to show off to Mom before going back to the cutting.
They were both laughing, lost in their own world, completely unaware I was standing there watching them.
I didn’t want to move and interrupt this moment.
I loved watching them because it proved every time that they were still so very much in love with each other.
I learned about how they met a while back, when they told the story at Christmas once.
They both went to school together at Bowen High, just like all of us kids, and though there was attraction on both sides, Mom let Dad really work for it.
I was glad Dad never stopped showing interest, because if he had, they would’ve never married and adopted me. I owed this life to his persistence.
I was ripped from my thoughts when Wesley appeared next to me, an amused frown pulling between his brows. “They’re such teenagers,” he said, grinning down at me.
I looked up at him and smiled, giving a small shrug because I would rather have parents like this than ones who fought all the time.
“My babies!” Mom called out when she finally noticed us. She came over to us with a big smile on her face, reaching for each of our hands. “Dance with me. You know this song, right? It was your Dad’s favorite song in high school.”
She moved to the music, and Wesley and I had no choice but to follow.
If there was one place I felt comfortable enough to dance, it was in this house and with my family.
I scrunched my nose when Dad wrapped his arms around me from behind, grabbing my hands and flaring them in the air to the music, while Mom spun around, really feeling the rhythm.
“I’m glad all of this will forever stay hidden from the world,” Wesley said, clearly joking.
“What, are you ashamed of us, son?” Dad asked, spinning me around before letting go of my arms to grab Wesley into a dancing position. “Iris, darling, take a video of us. We’ll play this on his birthday in front of all his friends.”
My grin widened as I watched Mom grab her phone to film the two. Wesley rolled his eyes, letting Dad lead, and as annoyed as he looked, I knew he was having just as much fun.
“Wonderful, boys. Do a little spin, Wes,” Mom encouraged.
I wanted to laugh. It’s what every normal person would’ve done in moments of joy and happiness. But, as always, no sound came out. I didn’t want to make this moment bad by ruining everyone’s mood, so I forced myself to push those thoughts aside and just let the happiness show on my face.
“Aw, Wes, you’re a princess.”
I turned my head to see Ashby standing in the doorway with a grin on his lips.
He looked tired, with his hair sticking up in every direction.
He looked at me for a second longer, his eyes softening when they met mine.
I smiled at him, unable to stop myself, then turned away because I felt my cheeks flush.
“Morning, guys,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen, his voice still rough with sleep.
“Morning, champ,” Dad replied, finally letting Wesley break free from his dramatic dancing.
Mom clapped her hands once, then turned down the music. “Alright. Let’s eat before this turns into a party.”
We all sat down, passing around plates while Mom brought all the food to the table. As everyone started eating, I looked around the table.
[Where’s Evie?]
Wesley swallowed his bite and shook his head. “She’s not feeling so good this morning.”
[What’s wrong?]
“She has a migraine,” he told me, looking pained as he said it.
“Oh, Wes, you didn’t tell us that. We’ve been blasting music down here all morning,” Mom said with a worried expression.
“It’s fine, Mom. It wasn’t that loud.”
Evie suffered migraines, and it could take hours and often days until she’d feel better. I couldn’t imagine just how painful migraines were. I only ever had headaches before, but I knew that pain was nothing compared to what Evie felt.
We continued eating, and I tried not to make it too obvious that I was thinking about Ashby and what we had done last night.
After we all helped clean up the kitchen, I went upstairs to work on some homework.
I tried to stay focused, but my eyes kept drifting to my bed, to the place where Ashby and I had slept the night before.
Every time I looked at it, my mind filled in the memory on its own.
Him leaning over me. His mouth on my neck.
The way my body had reacted without me telling it to.
My toes curled every time the feeling came back, and I had to force myself to look back down at my notebook and keep working.
I couldn’t stop wondering if Ashby was thinking about it too.
If he replayed it the way I did and thought it had been a mistake.
Or if he wanted it to happen again, the way I secretly hoped it would.
The thoughts crowded my head and, for the first time, made it genuinely hard to get through my work.
I frowned and leaned back in my chair, my hands lifting toward my face without me really noticing, and I started picking at my thumb again.
This time it wasn’t because I was anxious.
I was nervous, but more than that, I was restless, and even though I knew exactly what I was doing, I couldn’t make myself stop.