55. Addy
Chapter fifty-five
Addy
B ack at the Whitmore house, the carving begins. I'm awkward at first, unsure of how to turn my chosen pumpkin into the masterpiece I envision. But Gen is right beside me, guiding my hand, showing me how to saw through the thick flesh without slipping.
"Like this, see?" Her fingers are warm against mine, her confidence bolstering my own.
"Got it." I find my rhythm, and the pumpkin slowly transforms under my hands. Around us, the others are deep in their work, the sound of scraping and laughter merging into a melody of camaraderie.
The minutes fly by in a flurry of pumpkin shavings until we both step back, hands raised in surrender. All of theirs are amazing. Mine? Mine is more whimsical with lopsided eyes and a crooked grin. A surge of warmth fills me. It's not about winning; it's about this moment, right here, with them.
When we're all done, Gen stands, brushing pumpkin guts from her jeans. "Okay, now for the grand finale!"
Curious, I follow her into the den, where blankets, pillows, and string lights are scattered across the floor. My heart warms at the sight.
It seems so silly, childish even. But, at the same time, it’s everything I never knew I wanted.
Saint and Dre are there, setting another pile of blankets and pillows down with smiles on their faces.
"Let's get building," Gen declares with a grin that could outshine the fairy lights.
I laugh, unable to contain the bubbling joy. "You serious?"
"Deadly." She tosses me a pillow as if to punctuate her point.
We dive into the task, and it's not long before Saint, Dre, and Chess join the fray. I catch Saint carefully draping a blanket over two chairs, his usual stoic demeanor replaced by a focus so intense you'd think he was strategizing a battle plan. It's endearing, seeing him this way, and I can't help but smile.
There's something about the way they all come together, the way the air feels charged with love and laughter, that makes my heart swell.
The loft transforms under our collective effort, and as we step back to survey our creation, I realize that this ragtag group of souls has done more than build a fort. They've built a home, a sanctuary made of laughter, shared secrets, and the promise that, even if just for tonight, we are all exactly where we're meant to be.
The air is thick with the scent of buttery popcorn, and the sweet tang of candy mixes with the musk of the boys' cologne. It's an odd combination, but it feels right, like all these elements were meant to coalesce into this single moment of happiness.
"Horror first or Disney?" Dre asks, peering at the stack of movies by the laptop set up at the edge of our fort.
"Let's start with a scare and end on a song," Gen decides, and nobody argues.
The flicker of the movie screen lights up our faces, casting shadows on the walls of our blanket fortress. I'm nestled between a pile of pillows, a bowl of popcorn on my lap, and despite everything, it's hard not to be swept up in this moment of pure, unadulterated fun.
"Pass the gummy bears?" I whisper, trying not to disturb the film's dialogue.
"Here." Chess hands me the bag, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. There's a charge in that simple touch, an electric current that speaks of things unsaid, tensions unresolved.
Around us, the others are in various stages of captivated and drowsy, the late hour and the comfort of the den taking its toll. As the credits roll and the room is bathed in darkness, snores and soft breaths fill the air.
"Everyone's out," Chess murmurs, his voice barely audible over the soft sounds of slumber.
"Yeah," I reply, glancing around at our friends, feeling something akin to contentment.
His hazel eyes search mine, and for a moment, there's a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrors my own. His hand, warm and steady, brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, sending shivers down my spine.
“I want to fix this, Addy. Please. It’s been fucking miserable without you.”
“I want to believe you, Chess. But, I–”
“You’re not used to trusting. And, I get that. Let me show you. Please, Addy. Let me fix this.”
He leans in, and our lips meet in a kiss that feels like the first drop of rain after a long drought—sweet, refreshing, life-giving. My pulse dances under his touch, and I'm acutely aware of how right this feels.
"Want to head up to bed?" he asks, pulling away just enough so I can see the sincerity etched into his features.
I nod, unable to form words, but my agreement is clear. We tiptoe out of the fort, careful not to wake anyone, and make our way to the hallway. When we reach his room, he pushes open the door, and I step into a space that screams Chess in every conceivable way.
The walls are adorned with posters of old school bands and coding jokes only he would find hilarious. A sleek computer setup sits in one corner, while a disassembled robot of some sort lies on the workbench. It's organized chaos, and amidst it all, there's an underlying warmth that draws me in.
He's just as at home here as he is in the bungalow with Carmen and Abuela.
Chess rummages through his drawers and hands me one of his shirts. It's soft and smells faintly of his cologne—a scent that's become more familiar than I'd care to admit.
"Thanks," I say, slipping into the shirt in the privacy of his ensuite bathroom. It's large on me, coming down to mid-thigh, providing a comfort that's as much about warmth as it is about the intimacy of wearing his clothes.
When I emerge, Chess is already under the covers, his dark hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep but fixed on me.
"Better?"
"Much," I admit, smiling at him.
I slide in beside him, our bodies inches apart yet miles away in the turmoil of our thoughts. The cool cotton is a welcome relief against my skin. Chess flicks off the light, and the room is plunged into darkness save for the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
"Goodnight, Addy," he whispers, turning off the bedside lamp.
"Goodnight, Chess."
There's a stillness that envelops us—a quiet intimacy. He watches me, reaching out to run shi fingers across my cheekbone, tracing my lips with his thumb. When I don’t protest, he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It's a rhythm that lulls me towards a sense of safety I haven't known before.
The rhythm of Chess's breathing is a gentle cadence in the silent room. His fingers trace patterns on my scalp, winding through the strands of my hair, and every so often, his lips brush the top of my head—a tender kiss that's both comforting and stirring.
"Addy," he murmurs, and I can hear the question in his voice before he even speaks it. "You're miles away. What's going on?"
I hesitate, a tightness coiling in my chest. The vulnerability of this moment feels too vast, like standing at the edge of a precipice without knowing what lies below. But Chess waits, patient and quiet, and something about that unwavering presence nudges the words from my lips.
"I'm scared," I confess, the whisper barely audible even to my own ears.
"Of what?" There's no judgment in his tone, only an earnest desire to understand.
"Of trusting this. Of trusting you." My voice trembles with the weight of past betrayals, each one a shadow that lingers just out of sight. "I've been burned so many times by the people who are meant to take care of me. I've never had anyone just be kind." A shaky breath escapes me. "I don't know how to trust it. I'm terrified to let myself hope."
He is silent for a heartbeat, two, then pulls me closer until I'm enveloped in the warmth of his body. His heart beats strong against my ear, grounding me.
"This is real, Addy. I promise you this is real." His conviction is a steady flame in the darkness. "Even if things don't work out with us or the other boys. Even if we're not part of your life, we will never stop trying to protect you."
His vow wraps around me, less like chains and more like the very blankets that cocooned us earlier—providing safety, a place to belong. And in the quiet hush of his room, with the moon as our only witness, I let myself believe.