Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hayes
“That step has squeaked since the day they moved in. You’ll have to learn that.”
My thoughts get stuck on the fact that she said I’ll have to learn that—because that means she thinks I’ll be around here again.
“Didn’t they build the house?” I wait for her at the bottom of the staircase as she skips the third step.
“They built it, but it’s squeaked since the day they moved in.”
We face each other at the bottom of the stairs.
“Tired?” I ask, hoping she tells me no. I just want a few minutes alone with her.
“That’s like asking a marathoner if they’re tired after a race.” She pauses. “Of course I’m tired, but I’m always wired after they go to bed. It’s like I want a little me-time. I usually make myself a tea and sit in silence while I drink it—and then maybe watch some reality TV.”
“I like tea and can be very quiet.” I mime zipping my lips.
Sure, it’s fun with the kids around—enjoyable, we laugh a lot—but I’d be lying if I pretended that I don’t want some time that’s just her and me.
“Well, there’s only chamomile and peppermint tea in the house,” she says. “So, what would you like?”
I follow her into the kitchen, mentally scoring myself a point that she agreed so easily. “I’ll take the chamomile. I could definitely use something to make me sleepy.”
She heats the kettle, lifts onto her tiptoes to grab the box of tea, and her shirt rises, giving me a little more than a glimpse of her bare stomach.
My hands itch to touch her hips. I want to press her into the counter from behind and press my dick into her lower back… reach around and slide my hands under that tight tank top until the weight of her breasts are in my hands.
Fuck.
I’ve got to get this desire—this want for her—under control.
“I’m glad you and Lake worked everything out,” I say, forcing my gaze to the National Days calendar covered in check marks.
“Yeah.” She puts the tea bags in the mugs, moving around the kitchen, and I can’t stop watching her.
Why did I let her walk away that night? Why didn’t I demand an explanation after our kiss was so fucking… earthshattering?
There are so many questions I want to ask her, but they all feel selfish given her circumstance—what made her pull away, what made her run away. Could she ever give me a chance? Does she want me the way I want her?
The night we kissed, I swear she wanted it. I swear we’d been playing that game of I really want you, but I shouldn’t. Maybe for her, it was just Can I get Callie’s older brother? I’m sure plenty of girls played that game.
“I don’t want Lake to become me.”
My head snaps toward her at the admission, and I inwardly curse myself for letting my thoughts get off track. “Be you?”
“Yeah. I don’t want her to think she has to take on all the responsibility. I don’t want her to skip fun things because I need her here for her younger brother and sister.”
“You’re really worried about her.” I know it has to come from her own experience growing up.
“Babysitting is fine. But I know she really wants to go to that party, and it killed me to tell her no. We’re still getting used to the schedule.
I just went back to work, and I can’t believe how exhausted I am after a shift.
I mean, I thought I was tired before. I was so na?ve.
” She takes honey out of the cupboard. “I want her to be free to be her age.” She pauses, appearing contemplative.
“I was her age when my parents divorced. My mom always worked, so she would put me in charge of dinner, and I’d clean the house to make sure she didn’t have to when she got home.
She wasn’t herself for a long time after that…
” She peeks over at me, and I nod, remembering her parents’ very public divorce.
More than anything, I want to walk over and draw Leighton into my arms, give her the support I think she needs right now, but I force myself to stay where I am.
“I don’t know.” Her voice is like a whisper. “A lot of shit went down back then.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s bad enough that Lake is going to get all this attention—she’s always going to be the girl whose parents died tragically. She’s been branded with that for life.”
A painful lump grows in my throat as I remember that Leighton was branded the girl whose father was found in the school bathroom stall during a holiday play with a classmate’s mom.
“I don’t think you have any control over that.” My voice is gentle.
She shrugs, bringing the kettle over and pouring water into the two cups. “I can control what happens here though. I thought I was doing okay until I went back to work.”
“Has anybody brought up whether you’ll be able to keep working?
Like, Patrick and Sky—did they leave anything financially to help?
” I’ve been wondering, because going from a single nurse living in an apartment to a house with three kids is a significant increase in expenses.
“Will you be able to live off what they left?”
“As of right now, I don’t get anything until the custody thing is handled. But the estate pays for the house and things like that during this process.”
I must’ve heard her wrong. I thought she was getting custody. That she already had it.
My forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean, custody thing?”
“I had to petition the courts for custody. If anybody else comes forward, they can contest it—say I’m not fit—and then it’ll be an even longer process.”
There’s a chance she may not get the kids? After everything she’s done—everything she’s sacrificed—they might take them from her? Just hand them off to someone who looks better on paper? Anger is like a raging bull with its head down in my chest, horns scratching against my sternum.
“That’s bullshit. Who would protest?” I ask.
“Maybe no one. But if anyone does, I think it might be Patrick’s brother, Art… and his wife. I think they’ve been trying to have kids for a while, and she might see this as an instant family.”
The Martha Stewart bleach-blonde from the funeral.
“Well, I hope they see the connection you have with the kids.”
“Yeah, me too. Anyway, once that gets cleared up, the house and everything will be paid out of the estate. For now, living expenses are covered. But you might want to think long and hard before you have a family. They’re expensive.
” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it, then she sighs.
“Regardless of whatever happens and if there’s the option for me not to work, I still want to.
I love my job. I’m just not sure I can do both right now. ”
I look at her, then step over and take the two mugs of tea so we can go into the living room.
“I don’t know what to do,” she says softly. “It’s strange. I’ve always been so decisive, so sure of what I want. And now I’m not.”
Doesn’t that mean she was sure when she ran away from me? That’s not promising.
She shakes her head. “Anyway, let’s just drink our tea, then you can go home and get some much-needed sleep. You must be exhausted.”
There’s a part of me that wants to fix everything for her—to take away the pain in her eyes, the lines of her face, and the rigidity of her shoulders.
But she’s not the type of woman who would ever let me step in and fix things for her.
And I’m far from the right person to take over that role with her.
My profession doesn’t allow me to be who she needs.
Even now, sitting beside her on the couch with this small gap between us, all I can think about is how badly I want to close it.
I want to take her tea and place it on the coffee table, then press her into the couch with the weight of my body.
I want to pull down her pajama pants, put my face between her legs, and eat her pussy.
But it would be a fleeting moment, one night, and then what can I really promise her?
I’m in no place to take on a fatherly role to those kids upstairs.
I’m starting to wonder if our paths just aren’t ever meant to merge into one.