Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
RENLEY
I glance back one more time and then move up the stairs to Theo’s porch before lightly knocking on the door.
It takes him a few seconds, but he quickly opens and I expect him to pull me in and press me up against the closed door, but instead he hangs his head as I make my way in.
When the door clicks shut, I turn toward him and notice the defeated set of his shoulders and the sorrowful pinch to his brow.
Immediately, I know the conversation didn’t go well.
Wanting to tread carefully, I ask, “Did you get in touch with Rupert?”
He pushes his hand through his thick, brown locks and says, “I did.”
I take a step forward and link our hands together, wanting to let him know that I’m here for him. “How did it go?”
“Not great,” he answers and then blows out a heavy breath. “Can we just go upstairs?”
“Sure,” I say, concern pulsing through me, because this is not the Theo I know and love to be around. He’s not subdued. He’s not quiet.
He brings the life to my life. The color. The pizzazz.
He brings the joy and smiles.
So I’m feeling really out of my element and unsure how to handle this.
He leads me upstairs and right to his room, his eyes casting toward Rupert’s room for a moment before he brings me to his bed.
Since I already brushed my teeth and dressed in my pajamas, I’m ready for bed, and it seems as though he is as well, because he climbs under the covers and then holds them open for me.
I slip into bed next to him, my back to his chest, and after he situates the comforter, he loops his arm around me, pulling me flush against his body.
I curl my fingers around his and snuggle into his pillow, getting comfortable.
After a few moments of our breath synching and his grip growing tighter, I ask, “Are you not going to want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
The tone of his voice is startling, like it’s completely devoid of all emotion, and that’s not like him. If anything, he has way too much life in his voice.
“Theo,” I say softly, letting my thumb glide over the back of his hand. “When I was struggling, you were there, asking me to talk about my feelings. I want you to know that I can do the same thing. I’m here, ready to listen if you need it.”
“You don’t want to hear this.”
“But I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he says in a stern voice. “It will only infuriate you.”
Completely confused, I ask, “How would it infuriate me?”
“Just trust me,” he says, clearly not wanting to tell me what happened. “Just don’t push it, okay?”
But I want to.
I want to take his obvious pain away.
I want to help him solve things with Rupert so I can see that smile of his again.
But I also know that when I was having a hard time that one day when Aunt Kitty didn’t show up to help with the storage closet, he didn’t push me. He just accepted the fact that I was upset.
And I know that’s the same way I should treat this situation, even though it pains me.
Attempting to lighten the mood, I ask, “This feud between you, it doesn’t involve installing a toilet, does it?”
The smallest of chuckles rattles his chest as his lips find my head and he kisses me. “That’s exactly what it is.”
“I thought so. It will be okay. Been there, done that. It will be resolved, I just know it.”
“Thank you,” he says softly, kissing me again.
And I really hope I’m right, because now I can’t imagine seeing Theo without that teasing glint in his eye and that devilish smile.
I stretch my arms above my head, then reach behind me for Theo but come up short when I realize his side of the bed is cold.
I sit up in bed and glance around, and when I see no sign of him, I slip out of bed and adjust my pajamas before heading down the stairs, each creak announcing my arrival.
But Theo isn’t in the living room.
Nor is he in the kitchen.
“Theo?” I call out, glancing around. The house isn’t big, so if he doesn’t respond, it means he’s not here. I decide to call him one more time. “Theo?”
When I hear nothing, I move toward the front door, crack it open, and peek my head out, scanning the porch. Not there.
Worry etches my brow as I move toward the back of the house and open the back door to the yard, and that’s where I see him, raking his hands through his hair, sitting on the grass, leaning against the fence.
What is he doing?
“Theo,” I say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “What are you doing?”
His hair is disheveled, his jaw is peppered in scruff, and his shirt is askew from what seems like a hasty dressing.
“Are you okay?” I glance over to my house, checking to see if there are any signs of Aunt Kitty. When I see nothing, I join him on the grass and take a seat in front of him.
His eyes are bloodshot and his face is devoid of all humor.
“Theo,” I whisper, taking his hand. “What’s—”
“I can’t go fishing,” he says, shaking his head. “I, uh, I need to find Rupert. I need to find him now.”
“What’s going on?”
He can’t possibly be this distraught over a fight, can he?
I guess that’s not very nice to say—he is quite close with Rupert—but to the point that he’s nearly shaking?
“I…I have to go home.”
“Wait. What?” I ask, leaning back. The shock of his statement makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
He nods. “Yeah, I’m trying to book a flight for tomorrow, but I need to get Rupert. And he’s not answering my texts and all I need is for him to just answer the fucking texts.” Theo pulls on his hair now, frustration evident in how the muscles in his forearm fire off.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking his hand out of his hair so he doesn’t pull it all out in anger. “What’s going on? Why do you have to go home?”
Why do you have to leave?
And why does the mere thought of it break my heart?
Slowly, his eyes lift to mine. “My mum called. My father is in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” I say, moving in closer. “Theo, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t be. He deserves it.”
“Theo,” I reprimand, shocked that he, out of all people, would say such a horrible thing.
“He’s not a good man,” he whispers, shame washing over him.
“That doesn’t matter, he’s still your father.”
“Are you defending him?”
“No,” I say, feeling the thread that pulls us together start to snag. “I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret.”
“I don’t need the morality police right now. I need my fucking friend to answer his bloody text messages.” He chucks his phone across the yard and then buries his head in his hands.
Oh God, I have no idea how to handle this.
Up until now, Theo has been the light between the two of us.
He’s been able to lift the clouds and let the sun come in, but now that the roles are reversed, I don’t really know how to handle that.
I’ve always just moved forward when it seems to turn dark in my life, because it became natural to be sitting in those shadows.
It really wasn’t until Theo came along that I remembered to lift my head and enjoy the small things.
To smile.
To laugh.
To slow down and marvel at the way I can expertly use my hands to create something beautiful.
How do I ever return that belief to him?
And how do I do it, knowing that he’s going to leave?
Selfishly, I want to tell him to stay, that his father will be okay.
There is no need to run back to England.
How can I not tell him that the thought of him leaving makes me feel physically ill, that the idea of not having him around, cheering me on, brings such devastation that my eyes start to sting?
How do I set aside my wishes, in the hope of trying to help him?
“I need to go,” he says, getting up from the grass.
Quickly, I stand as well and stop him before he heads back into the house.
“Theo, wait.” I press my hand to his chest and stare up at this handsome man who has truly changed me over the last few weeks.
“What can I do to help?” When he doesn’t answer, or even look at me, I cup his cheek and bring his eyes to mine. “Theo, what can I do to help?”
His eyes are weary, tired, unsure, but after a few seconds, he melts into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his head into my shoulder.
“I…I don’t want to fucking go,” he whispers. “I want to stay here with you.”
I rub my hand up and down his back, fear prickling at the back of my eyes, prompting a set of emotions I was not prepared to feel to come to the forefront of my mind.
I don’t want you to go either.
I want you to stay here with me.
Then, to my surprise, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist before he brings us both back in the house, leaving his phone in the grass.
He makes his way through the house and then takes a seat on the couch, me sitting on top of him.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt and then gently tug on it, waiting for me to protest, but I don’t, because I need this just as much as he does.
So instead, I lift my arms over my head, inviting him.
He smooths his hands up my sides, dragging the shirt with him until he pulls it up and over, leaving me in just my shorts.
He sighs, taking in my bare chest before he leans forward and presses kisses to my neck, his arms looping around me and keeping me close.
“I don’t want to leave,” he whispers. His lips are sucking on a spot between my neck and shoulder, his teeth nibbling as well. “I want to stay here with you.”
“I don’t want you to leave either,” I say, my hand threading through his hair, keeping his head in place, wanting to feel him mark me.
Brand me.
Make me his.
His hands float up to my breasts and he cups them gently, his thumbs playing with my nipples, lighting me up inside as he continues to mark me with his mouth, not letting up, but sucking and sucking, letting me know that I will, without a doubt, be able to see him in my reflection.
I rock over him, finding his erection between my legs and creating a friction that heats up the both of us.