29. JUSTICE
JUSTICE
I got home a little past seven and found Storie in the kitchen with her sleeves pushed up, wiping down counters. The house was quiet, everybody tucked off in their own corner of it. Skye and Dream were out back with Midnite, I could hear Dream laughing through the window over the sink.
“Look at you,” I said, dropping my keys on the counter. “Since when you clean up without being asked?”
“I clean, Daddy. I’m only doing this because Skye missed a few spots. We have to keep this place pristine. Otherwise, someone could get sick,” she said with a smirk.
I didn’t miss the little dig at Skye, but I brushed it off.
That caused me to make a mental note to call a few therapists that Sloane had suggested to me.
I could tell that Storie was trying to change her attitude but there was still something going on.
I couldn’t let all of my business endeavors make me ignore my child’s needs.
“Thank you for cleaning it up. How was school? I like that I haven’t received any calls in a while.”
“It was good. My report card comes out soon and I think you’ll be very proud of me,” she said but then her mood dipped. I watched her eyes glaze to the side.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, prepared for her to tell me something bad about school.
“I don’t think Skye likes me very much.”
Fuck. Why would she say that? I hadn’t noticed Skye being hostile towards her whenever I was around. But I needed to take Storie’s word seriously. I didn’t want her to think that I didn’t care about her. I’d talk to her later about it.
“Skye likes you a lot, baby girl.”
“I don’t know.” She rinsed the rag out, wouldn’t look at me. “She seemed kind of jealous over that bracelet you gave me.”
I let that one roll right past me. Storie had been finding little ways to needle at Skye for weeks now, and most days I chalked it up to a girl who wasn’t ready to share her daddy with anybody new, which was fair enough.
Fifteen is a hard age to watch a man move on from a mother you still grieve every single day.
I wasn’t about to build a case out of a comment made over a dish rag, even if some small part of me filed it away anyway.
“I’ll talk to her. But she likes and cares about you. She’s been amazing to this family and takes good care of Rita. You have to learn to let people in,” I said to Storie.
“I’ll try.”
The back door opened right then, Dream’s laugh coming in ahead of her and Skye a step behind holding two riding helmets. Storie straightened up fast.
“I’m gonna go read,” she said, already halfway to the stairs before anybody answered her.
Dream came flying across the kitchen and jumped straight into my arms like she did every single night, smelling like hay and sunshine.
I caught her and held on tight enough to make her squeal.
Over the top of her head my eyes found Skye’s, and every single thing I’d been thinking about since Sunday night came rushing back up through me at once.
I wanted to cross that kitchen and put my mouth on hers so bad my jaw ached from holding it back, wanted it so bad it near about embarrassed me, a grown man losing his composure over a woman standing across his own kitchen.
Had two little girls in this house though, one of them right in my arms, so I put that want away where it belonged and settled for the way her eyes held mine a second longer than they needed to.
Skye got Dream through her bath and into pajamas while I handled some calls in my office, and by the time I came up to say goodnight, Dream was already half asleep with her stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm.
I kissed her forehead, told her I loved her to the moon, and Skye tucked the blanket up around her shoulders one more time before we both slipped out.
My hand caught hers in the hallway, just for a second, my thumb running over her knuckles before I let go.
“I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re done,” she said, voice low enough to keep between the two of us.
“Night night Skye,” Dream called out sleepy from the bed, and Skye smiled back at her over her shoulder before we headed our separate ways down the hall.
I gave her twenty minutes before I came down. Found her in the kitchen again, arms crossed, standing like a woman bracing for something.
“Storie knows about us,” she said, no preamble at all.
“That a bad thing?”
“Yes, Justice.” She said my name like it was supposed to knock some sense into me. “It’s awkward and I know she doesn’t like me. Look, she has every right to feel some kind of way about us. We can’t keep doing this.”
I closed the distance between us slow, watching her back up half a step before the counter stopped her.
“I’m not asking your permission on this.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It’s exactly how this works.” I put my hand against the counter beside her hip, not touching her yet, just close enough that she’d feel the heat of me.
“I’ve spent three years not wanting anybody.
You think I’m about to let a fifteen year old’s opinion talk me out of the first thing that’s made me feel alive since my wife died? ”
She opened her mouth to argue and I kissed her before the argument could get out, slowly at first, giving her every chance to push me off if she meant it.
She didn’t. Her hands found the front of my shirt and pulled me in closer instead, kissing me back like she’d been arguing with herself about it just as hard as she’d been arguing with me.
Somewhere upstairs a door clicked shut, quiet, and we both froze, listening to the house settle back into silence around us.
“Come to my room,” I said against her mouth.
She followed me up the back stairs without another word of protest, and once that door was locked behind us, neither one of us brought up Storie, or caution, or any of the reasons this was supposed to stop.
I laid her back across my bed slow, taking my time getting her out of that shirt, watching her breath catch every time my hands found new skin to touch.
She reached for me the same way I reached for her, both of us done pretending either one of us had any restraint left worth talking about.
I set about proving to her, slow and thorough, exactly why walking away from this wasn’t a decision either one of us was capable of making tonight.