Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Korrad
The shaft of sunlight through the blackout curtains was hitting the wall in the wrong place. After I opened my eyes, I spent a minute staring at it before I understood.
I’d slept in.
After a lifetime of waking with dawn—first because I had a kitling to care for, then because it was the only time of day I could be alone and at peace—it was a strange feeling. And I owed it all to the female at my side.
At my side? Nah. My lips twitched as I turned my head. Kesha’s head was on my shoulder, her hair poofing against my cheek, her arm thrown over my chest.
My wife.
She was sprawled across me like she was laying a claim to me, and I didn’t mind at all. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, and I found myself smiling as I watched her.
Kesha was worn out, and who could blame her?
I’d kept her up until after midnight, milking climax after climax from her.
I bathed her twice, fed her once, and kept pouring her ice water so she wouldn’t get dehydrated.
And then I woke her twice during the night with my mouth on her pussy.
Gods below, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the sleepy little sounds she made as she found pleasure.
I was addicted to my wife after only one night in bed.
And I’d slept late.
My lips curled ruefully, knowing Brakkor would give me shit about being late to work. Oh well, screw him. Nothing was going to mess up my mood today.
With a little sigh, I acknowledged I had to let Kesha sleep—it was broad daylight, I could hear the boys in the kitchen, and as much as I wanted to hear her moan my name again, it wasn’t the time for it.
So slowly, gently, I untangled myself, sliding from beneath her, rolling her onto the pillows. If she was going to make a habit of sharing my bed—gods below, I hoped so!—then I would need to get some silk pillowcases for her.
I was considering what other changes I needed to make to ensure my—our bedroom was welcoming to her as I padded into the bathroom to wash and brush my teeth. Because I sure as shit wanted Kesha to return here tonight and every night until…
Until the end, I guess.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, dark eyes looking like I hadn’t had enough sleep and didn’t regret it.
That long-ago day that I’d learned Sharra had finished off a bottle of tequila and wrapped her car around a tree, my first response had been relief that no one else—even me—could be hurt by her again.
And I’d spent years after that dealing with the guilt of that response.
It was only now, years later, that I’d accepted that reaction and forgiven myself for it.
But her sudden death had taught me nothing was guaranteed; not marriage, not a future, not even a Mate Bond. If I lost Kesha tomorrow, I’d…
I closed my eyes, hating to even consider the possibility.
Losing her would devastate me. Open a hole in my chest not even Jay and Milo could fill. Why?
Because you love her.
The voice whispered in my head, clear as the streams near Bramblewood, and my eyes flashed open to glare at my reflection.
I loved her. I loved Kesha. I loved my wife.
The slow smile took me by surprise, and my chest felt light as I quietly dressed, letting her sleep.
In the kitchen, I puttered around making coffee. The boys had already eaten—I sighed, loading their cereal bowls from the sink into the dishwasher, wondering how the hells to get them to remember they needed to do this simple task—and were in the backyard, playing in the tree.
Briefly, I wondered about that fort they were supposed to make up there, and where they were going instead each morning. But soon, my mind wandered back to the female in my bed.
How could it not? There were signs of Kesha everywhere.
Her collection of tea mugs beside my two favorite coffee mugs.
Milo’s medication basket on the counter.
A pad of paper with a grocery list in both of our handwritings: Rye bread, mayo, and avocados in my block letters, soy sauce, baby carrots. and mouthwash in her looping red ink.
Sticky notes adorned with that same handwriting covered the fridge, and my fingers itched to move them into some semblance of order.
Hockey sign-ups Aug 1. Jay pads size?
Write the damn article!!!!!!!
How many bags of chips? 5? 7? Ask M
Follow up with Alyssa—when is she delivering her next romantasy??
Email P about LH origins in EI
Ask J for her mom’s recipe for potato bread. SO GOOD Jay wants to try
Mtg w/ AF Tues 16th 3pm bring boys for fun
My lips curled as I stood there in front of the refrigerator, sipping my coffee and trying to make sense of her codes.
LH surely stood for lighthouse. I liked how this collection was a combination of reminders for her work—the article she was writing for the Gazette and her editing career—and her life here with us.
Things she did not only to make our lives happier, but fuller.
My fingers rose to pull that last note from its spot. AF was probably Augustus Frapp, and she was doing research with him. But the fact that she was bringing our sons with her… Smiling, I put it back in its place.
Last summer, Jay had been old enough to stay home alone, although he’d spent the whole time in front of his computer…
which is, I suppose, how he’d befriended Milo.
But this summer, thanks to Kesha being here with them, the boys were able to spend their time exploring and building and playing roller hockey and swimming and doing all the things a childhood summer should be.
I was grateful for that.
Slowly, I turned to take in the rest of the kitchen, my senses picking up on more places Kesha had subtly changed our lives for the better.
I was grateful for her. I was grateful for the way she completed our family.
My life with Sharra had been…fraught. Always on edge, always wondering what I could do to calm her down or ways I could change to be worthy of her respect. We’d been well-matched in the bedroom—well, of course, we’d been barely twenty, and horny all the time—but outside…?
I remember holding my breath whenever we had to share a room, wondering what she was going to find fault with. We might have been Mated, but it wasn’t a happy relationship.
With Kesha, everything was different.
We didn’t have that Mate Bond, but it didn’t seem to matter. I’d chosen her, and she’d chosen me, and the peace I felt with her was far better than any Mate Bond.
Right?
I loved her and was grateful for the future we were building together.
What more could I ask for?
When my coffee was gone, I poured another cup into my travel mug, then pulled a frozen breakfast burrito out to microwave.
Kesha had made a batch of them last week, and I was addicted to how delicious and easy they were to eat in the truck.
Then I stepped out onto the porch, explained to the boys that Mom was still asleep, so don’t leave the property until she wakes up.
Jay’s easy wave of acceptance made my chest tighten for just a moment. In a few short weeks, thanks to Milo calling her Mom, Kesha had become his mother as well. He had no memories of Sharra, and I hadn’t done enough to keep her memories alive, since my feelings about her loss were so complicated.
It was Milo who dropped the hammer he’d been trying to pass up to Jay and scampered over to the porch. “Are we still going to sleep over with Aunt Jossy and Uncle Brak?” he asked eagerly, eyes bright as he tipped his head back to peer up at me. “We’re supposed to go over at five.”
“Six,” Jay corrected. “He told us last night, remember?”
Without thinking, I reached out to pat Milo’s shoulder, and the kid swayed toward me. “Yep. I’m going to leave work early to come pack you up and take you over.” Assuming Kowalski didn’t chew me out for being late this morning.
Milo surprised me by throwing his arms around my waist. “Okay! See you then, Dad!”
He ran off, leaving me feeling…unsatisfied.
My Kteer wasn’t quiet, but had faded to a low hum in my chest, as if last night with Kesha had satiated it a bit. There was still something that felt off, something I was missing, a string slightly out of tune… Was it related to Milo? Or something else?
I was in a thoughtful frame of mind as I wandered into the kitchen and clicked on the kettle so Kesha would have hot water for her tea when she woke, and climbed into my truck to eat on the way to the construction site.
I was forty minutes late.
Brakkor was waiting to give me shit about that fact the moment I stepped out of the truck. He was standing next to the excavator with his arms crossed, his expression blank, but his dark eyes dancing with barely concealed glee.
He loved when I fucked up and he got to act like the responsible one.
“Traffic,” I lied.
“You live on the same side of the island.” He jerked his thumb at the lighthouse looming behind him. “Only one road.”
I brushed past him, pretending interest in the job site. “Thank you, I know.”
He let me get two steps past him before he grinned. All these years, and I still hadn’t found a way to shut that down.
The lighthouse sat on its rise at the far end of the point—white paint gone to chalk, iron rail rusted through, looking every one of its two hundred years.
Jocelyn was already at the south foundation with a roll of blueprints under her arm, standing with the foreman, running the project the way she ran everything: like she’d already thought of the problem you were about to raise.
She spread the plans over the hood of Kowalski’s truck when she saw me coming.
“Steel plate delivery confirmed for Thursday,” she said. “Beams in Friday, assuming the ground crew finishes the underpin work. Then a two-day window to get her onto the dolly system.”
“Drainage at the new foundation?”
“Resolved. Aggie signed off last night at eleven-fifteen. Subject line: Approve this so I can go to sleep. Four exclamation marks.”
Mr. Kowalski snorted.
“Interior inspection before the move?” I said.