Chapter 3 #2
“Yeah, but you’re the only one who looked like a little fairy.”
“The rest of us are sturdy folk,” I joked as Richie turned on his side to watch us. “Thank the good Lord.”
We were quiet, lost in our memories of Dad.
“What did he say about me?” Aisling demanded, sitting up.
“He said that you looked like a bobblehead,” Cian joked.
Aisling scowled.
“You did.” I snorted. “But you grew into your head.”
“He said you were the sweetest baby he’d ever seen,” Saoirse said, smiling up at our baby sister.
“He did?”
“Yep,” I confirmed. Saoirse was right. I hadn’t remembered it until that moment, but our dad had called Aisling the sweetest baby he’d ever seen. “He said he loved coming home because the minute you saw him, you’d start smiling. He didn’t even have to look at you, and you were grinning at him.”
“I loved him,” she said happily.
“You adored him,” I agreed.
Aisling didn’t remember much of our dad because she’d only been four when we lost him, and Ronan was only a little better.
He’s been six, and I always thought he should’ve had more memories, but a part of me wondered if he’d blocked them out.
Dad’s death had been so shocking and traumatic, especially with how Mom had reacted, that maybe it was how he’d protected himself from the turmoil.
“Do you think Mom would be like this if Dad was still around?” Saoirse asked after a few minutes of quiet.
“No fuckin’ way,” Cian spat.
“No,” I said at the same time.
“She’s an alcoholic,” Saoirse argued. “It’s a natural progression.”
“He’d never put up with this shit,” Cian scoffed.
“He couldn’t have stopped it,” Saoirse said stubbornly.
“He would’ve, Sersh,” I said softly. “And if he couldn’t keep her in line, he would’ve kicked her ass out.”
Cian made a noise of disbelief.
“He loved her,” I continued, ignoring him. “He loved her more than anything. But he wouldn’t have let her put us through all the crap she has. No way.”
“Agree to disagree,” Cian said flatly.
“Either way, I still wish he was here,” Saoirse murmured.
“Me too,” I replied.
Cian and Aisling both agreed.
I turned to look at Richie, who’d been quiet while we reminisced.
“We should go out tonight,” he said softly, brushing my hair away from my face.
“I can’t stay out late,” I warned.
“We never do,” he replied with a chuckle. “But we should celebrate my new job and having this shit with the social worker over.”
“I can make dinner for us,” Saoirse said from my other side. “We’re swimming in groceries.”
“No bullshit new recipes,” Cian bitched. “Just make us something normal.”
“You can cook.”
“Fuck that.”
“Then shut up and eat what I make you,” Saoirse ordered.
“Fine.”
I grinned at Richie.
He leaned down close. “He’s going to be trained so well by the time some woman puts a ring on it.”
“Hell yes, he will,” I replied smugly. Then something occurred to me. “Where the hell is Ronan?”
“He’s asleep,” Aisling called out. “He fell asleep in the grass.”
“Amateur,” Cian joked.
“He’s a growing boy, he needs his rest,” I retorted, laughing as I leaned up to look at Ronan. He was belly down in the grass, his head resting on his crossed arms, and sure enough—he was completely passed out.
“You want me to carry him inside?” Richie asked as we got to our feet.
“Do you mind?” I asked with a grimace, glancing up at the sky. “He’s going to burn to a crisp if we leave him out here.” I could already feel the skin on my own shoulders tightening, the first warning of a sunburn.
“No problem.”
I led them upstairs, giggling as Richie maneuvered Ronan’s limp body through the bedroom door. My baby brother always had a hell of a time falling asleep, but once he was out, there was no waking him.
“Just drop him on the bed.” I gestured toward the bottom bunk. “He’ll sleep without a blanket tonight anyway, so it doesn’t matter if he gets it wet.”
“I can’t believe their beds are made,” Richie joked, putting Ronan in his bed. “I’m impressed.”
“That’s my work,” I informed him as we left the room. “I’ve been making them every morning in case the social worker showed up. The boys are slobs, as you can tell by the rest of their room.”
“You gonna go out with me tonight?” Richie asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he herded me toward my bedroom.
“I don’t know,” I replied with a hum. “I might need to wash my hair.”
“Nah, it already got a good rinse from the hose.”
I laughed. “Where do you want to go?”
“Movie?”
“Boring.”
“Dinner?”
“That sounds good.”
“Picnic in the back of my truck?” he persisted, closing us into the room so he could press me against the door. “We can grab tacos from that truck you like and drive out to the viewpoint.”
“That sounds really good,” I murmured, leaning up on my toes.
“I thought you might like that.”
“I have good memories of that viewpoint,” I said against his mouth as his fingers tangled in my hair.
“Me too,” he whispered into my mouth.
It wasn’t going anywhere, it couldn’t with the kids roaming around the house, but just like every time before, the moment Richie’s lips touched mine, my mind emptied, and my entire body lit up like the Fourth of July.
After a year of having sex in every position we could think of, he could still make me feel like it was the first time we’d touched.
I didn’t know if it was chemistry or compatibility or the fact that I loved him, but I couldn’t imagine ever losing the urge to strip down naked and climb him like a tree.
“No more water fights when I’m here,” he panted, his lips finding my neck as he tweaked my nipple with his fingertips.
“Why?” I gasped, leaning into the knee he’d pressed between my legs.
“Because your shirt is fucking see-through, and I had to force myself not to stare at your tits, or I’d have been sporting a hard-on for the last hour,” he ground out, making me giggle.
“Well, that would’ve been extremely awkward.”
“Pretty sure Cian would’ve cut it off,” he muttered.
He was probably right. It was one thing for Cian to know that we were probably getting down—he was old enough to know it happened and knew how long Richie and I had been together, it would’ve been weirder if we hadn’t yet—but it was something else entirely for him to get a visual confirmation of any kind.
“We should probably stop,” I whispered, my rolling hips belying my words.
“Agreed.”
He didn’t let me go, but his hands moved, sliding across my wet shirt until he’d wrapped me in a tight hug.
“I’m gonna head home and change,” he said against my neck, pressing a light kiss there. “I’ll come get you at five.”
“How old are you? Eighty?”
“If I get you at five, we can get our food and have more time to spend before you have to get home,” he explained, leaning back to press his forehead against mine.
“Five, it is,” I agreed, grinning.
“Wear a dress.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I replied instantly.
“Please, would you wear a dress?” he corrected dryly. “I like being able to slide my hands up your skirt instead of having to take your jeans off.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I grumbled good-naturedly.
“Swear to God, you’re the most argumentative woman on the planet.”
“You could have someone easier,” I replied breezily, pulling away.
“If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t still be chasing you,” he shot back, pinching my ass.
“You already caught me.”
Richie laughed ruefully. “I don’t think I’ll ever really catch you,” he argued. “See you at five?”
“Yep.”
I was smiling as he left the room, but what he’d said made a little knot form in the pit of my belly.
We’d been together forever, what did he mean when he’d said he’d never catch me ?
I was well and truly caught. The only thing that would make me more caught would be a ring on my finger, and that obviously wasn’t going to happen for years.
I pushed the worry into the back of my mind as I changed out of my wet clothes and went down to help Saoirse plan out dinner. Cian had disappeared somewhere and Aisling was busy on the living room floor, dressing her Barbies, a hairbrush and a million tiny hair ties beside her.
“I’m just going to make tuna casserole,” Saoirse announced when I strode into the kitchen. “Everyone likes it, and it’s impossible to screw up.”
“You don’t have to make it, Sersh. I can just make something before I go.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “You never go anywhere. I can handle this.”
“I go places.”
“You go to work.”
“That’s a place,” I joked.
“You didn’t even go to your graduation,” she pointed out, pulling things from the cupboard.
“It’s just a stupid ceremony,” I said, boosting myself onto the counter. “Why do you and Cian keep giving me shit for not going?”
“Because it’s a big deal.”
“Not really.”
“Well, maybe we wanted to celebrate you for once,” she said, slamming a can of soup onto the counter. She turned to look at me. “You celebrate all our crap!”
“Where is this coming from?” I asked gently, confused as all hell.
“Richie’s like, the best guy ever.” She scowled. “And he keeps hanging out here all the time, and you guys never go do fun stuff or anything!”
“He likes hanging here with us.”
“He’s going to get bored,” she blurted. Her mouth snapped shut afterward, but the words had already escaped.
“You think he’s going to bail because I don’t do enough fun shit?” I asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, turning away.
“He won’t,” I assured her, not willing to even acknowledge that I’d had the same fear often.
“You don’t know that.”
“We’ve been together for three years,” I pointed out logically. “Don’t you think he knows what he’s gotten himself into?”
“Well, why don’t you at least try?” she snapped.
“Saoirse, look at me,” I ordered. I waited until she’d spun back around, her mouth in a mutinous line. “This is my life. Our house, you guys, my job—that’s who I am. This is the life I’m living. Richie wants to be a part of that, which is awesome. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t. It’s as simple as that.”
“What if he wants to get married?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m eighteen! I’m not marrying anyone for a long time.”
“In five years?” She glared. “In ten? What, are you just going to bring us with you?”
“I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
“Do you really think that he’s going to stay?” she asked in exasperation.
“Where the hell is this coming from?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“We’re stuck here,” she ground out. “You aren’t.”
“The fuck, I’m not,” I retorted. “Where I am, you are. That’s it. Conversation over.”
“Conversation not over,” she hissed.
“What the fuck are you arguin’ about?” Cian asked, jogging down the stairs. “Jesus.”
“Saoirse is worried that Richie is going to get bored with me because I never do anything fun,” I replied flatly.
“And because you have four fucking kids,” Saoirse said hotly.
“I don’t know why you think this is any of your business!”
“Both of you shut up,” Cian barked. “For fuck’s sake. Sersh, have you seen Aoife? Dude’s not going anywhere.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. “I think.”
“If he bails, he bails,” Cian said with a shrug. “But I don’t think he will. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into, and he keeps on coming back. Like herpes.”
“Please,” I groaned. “Dear God, please tell me you don’t have fucking herpes.”
“Of course not.” Cian grinned. “I always wrap it before I pack it.”
“Ew!” Saoirse made retching noises.
“If you’re having sex, I will lock you in your room for the entire fucking summer,” I spat, glaring at him.
“I’m jokin’!” He lifted his hands in surrender.
“Thank the good Lord,” Saoirse mumbled in our dad’s accent.
Cian laughed.