Chapter Eighteen
L ily’s fever broke just after seven this evening, and while she’s still cranky and tired, her color has returned, and she’s feeding normally again.
Dean is still sleeping, locked behind his bedroom door across the hall from the bathroom, and the only reason I know it’s locked is because I tried to go in there.
It’s been hours since he sealed himself away, and worry has gnawed at me. I expected him to wake up by now, especially since Lily’s nighttime routine is about to begin.
I swirl the water in the bath and check the temperature before I place her bath-chair beneath the water, the suction cups sticking it to the bottom.
With the door left open so I can hear everything happening outside of the bathroom, I lower Lily into the water, my worries slipping away for a moment as I watch her swing her arms to splash at the sudsy water.
She smiles with that gummy grin and does it again, flinging the water right onto me.
I’d expected it, which is why I’d placed a towel across my legs, but it still drenches my sweater and soaks through the towel onto my jeans.
I let her continue for another couple of minutes before I take over and get her washed and clean.
It’s when I’m wrapping her up in her warmed towel with the little hood that Dean’s door opens behind me.
He pauses in the threshold, clothes a little rumpled and hair disheveled, his glasses missing.
There’s something so casually sexy about his just woke state, the way his hair sticks up and sleep still clings to his eyes.
He throws me a sleepy grin. “You’re staring.”
“Shit,” I hiss, snapping my head around fast enough that I could claim on insurance for whiplash.
His chuckle has goosebumps rising on my skin, but when his chest presses into my spine and his hand comes over my shoulder, I stop breathing all together. But, of course, he isn’t there for me.
He offers a thick finger to Lily who shoves at the towel to free her arm and grab it.
“Hi Lily Flower,” His voice softens with her, and with it, so does my heart.
It makes a painful little thud in my chest, and the way she brightens looking at him, makes me want to melt.
Despite his reservations and fears with her, this little girl already knows who her father is.
She trusts him, and that right there is a beautiful thing.
“Let me get her dry,” I say through the grit in my throat, “And then I can help set you up so you can do her last feed before bed.”
He nods, “I’d like that, thanks.”
“Sure,” It comes out breezy, but I feel anything but. My skin is tight, and my heart is pounding. Agreeing to stay was a bad idea, even though I’d already made up my mind before we made the bargain. There was no way I could leave him the way he is and with her sick too, it would have made me cruel.
I dry her down and dress her in her pajamas, then make my way down to Dean, who is preparing a bottle in the kitchen. He makes it look effortless, even with only the use of one arm.
“You sure you haven’t done this before?” I adjust Lily so she can watch, too.
He chuckles, “Willow showed me when we set it up. I made sure to listen.”
“Any more news on her mother?” Last I heard, she was still MIA.
Dean stills with the bottle. “No.”
“Are you still looking?” I query.
“I have people keeping an eye out, but she is no longer my priority or concern.”
“That’s fair,” I nod to the bottle, “That ready?”
He grunts in response and follows me through to the living room, where I position some cushions against the arm of the couch.
“Sit there.” I order making it so his bad arm is positioned against the arm of the couch.
When he’s sitting, I balance Lily in the crook of one arm and place a cushion on his thighs, creating a little bed on his lap which will allow Lily to remain in the right position while giving her the support she needs.
“Is that comfortable?” I ask. He nods silently, so I don’t say anything else and help get his daughter settled on him, making sure her head remains supported against the cushion, and then step back to allow him to feed her in peace.
I watch for a couple of minutes to make sure they’re comfortable and then leave for the kitchen, where I dig around for the takeout menus I saw in here earlier, picking out a pizza place just around the corner.
I place the order online, selecting a few options since I don’t know what Dean would like, and then go back in to check on them.
“You’re still staying?” Dean lifts his dark eyes to me, but they pause on the wet spots on my clothes. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s fine, and yes, we made a deal.”
“I’ll get you something to wear when we take Lily up,” He turns his focus back to his daughter.
“Really, I’m fine,” I pick at the fabric to remove it from my skin where it’s stuck.
“And what?” He flicks his eyes to me, “You were going to sleep in jeans?”
My arms cross across my chest, and I cock my head, “Naked, actually.”
Where the fuck did that come from!?
I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.
A strangled noise leaves him before he covers it with a cough that makes Lily jump.
“Fuck!” He growls.
“Sorry, I–”
“Can you take her?” He rolls his neck from side to side, “I need a minute.”
“Oh,” I rush over and lift Lily up, resuming her feed while Dean gets up and walks to the window, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck as he looks out into the dark.
He doesn’t say anything, and I think I may have pushed it too far.
In my defense, that is not what I meant to say at all.
He makes me lose all my senses. All the damn time.
I want to push his buttons and stay away, all in the same breath. Flirt with him and fight with him, because when I’m here, I don’t feel so damn alone. I don’t feel like the lost girl, running from a past that could catch up with her at any minute. He makes me forget.
I feel like myself.
Lily finishes her bottle, so I place it down and finish the routine, “She’s ready for bed now.” I whisper as if afraid speaking too loud will disturb whatever peace he’s trying to find.
I’m starting to realize Dean has his own kind of language, going back to primitive times when grunts and growls were the only way to communicate.
He grumbles with his back to me, so I take that as a cue to go up myself.
Lily’s eyes are droopy, and while she is a little snotty, her fever has remained gone.
Could be a cold, or she’s teething, but since her temperature is back to normal, I’m not worried.
Using the toe of my shoe to kick open her door, I enter her room, my nose scrunching like it always does at the darkness of the bedroom.
This really needs to be decorated better for her; it’s so dark and broody.
“Really that bad?” Dean’s voice is low behind me, and I startle, not having heard him follow. For his size and presence, that should be impossible. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Make a noise next time,” I huff, and gently lay Lily down on her changing mat to change her diaper and get her swaddled for the night.
As if teasing me, he forces his steps down hard as he crosses toward me, watching over my shoulder.
When Lily is all swaddled up and cozy, I transfer her to her crib, her tiny body looking even smaller in the large space.
Her eyes remain open, blinking up at her dad as he watches over her.
I give them a moment and set up the monitor, ensuring the camera feed and audio are all live, and then switch on the white noise.
“Sleep tight, Lily flower,” Dean whispers as I make my way to the door, and then he follows, not closing it fully. We both wait on the other side, listening to the tiny whimpers as she realizes we’ve left, but it doesn’t last, she’s a great sleeper, and within a few minutes, it goes quiet.
“Come on,” Dean whispers, a hand landing on the base of my spine as he ushers me to the next room and away from the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“My room,” He frowns.
“Why?”
One dark smudge of a brow quirks before his eyes dip back down to the wet patches that are in that horrible, warm stage, making it feel like I’m sweaty, my skin damp beneath.
“Fine,” I concede and let him guide me inside.
His bedroom is exactly how I imagined it would be.
Dark. Brooding. Lacking any kind of light or color.
Deep slate gray, almost black, paint covers all the walls, and wood paneling is behind the headboard.
There are a few gold accents, like the wall lamps on either side of the bed and the legs on the chaise lounge in front of the window, but other than those, it’s a mix of black, white, and gray.
There’s a single piece of artwork on the wall, an abstract piece that has some splashes of red in it, and it’s clean, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen.
His bed is made, the corners tight and tucked, and there’s two other doors inside, separate from the main entry.
He heads to the one on the left, closest to the window, and reaches inside to turn on the light, illuminating a walk-in closet.
I don’t follow but I can see enough to see that his wardrobe is as tidy as the rest of the house, every item of clothing either hung on a pole along the wall or folded neatly in the cubed shelving that goes from floor to ceiling.
I stand in the middle of the room, the carpet plush beneath my feet, and wait while I hear him rummage around and then come back out with a pair of flannel pajama pants and a large, white T-shirt.
“I’ll show you to the guest room.” His eyes linger on my face as I take the items of clothing from him, and then they drop to my lips.
I fight the urge to wet them, my throat working on a swallow.
Eventually, he clears his throat and throws out his arm, offering for me to exit first. In the hall, he steps to the side and opens the door beside his.
The guest room is as dark as his, but instead of gold accents, this one has silver.
“It doesn’t have a bathroom,” He hangs back in the hall, “But I rarely use the main bathroom, so it’s all yours while you’re here.”
I nod just as the sound of the buzzer for the door wails through the house.
“Who the fuck is that?” Dean snaps out suddenly.
“Shit, sorry! I ordered us pizza; I’ll go grab it!”
“No,” He reaches for the handle, “Get changed, I’ll get it sorted.”
He doesn’t wait for me to agree as the door clicks closed, and he leaves me in the room alone.
If I’m correct, his headboard is against the same wall as the bed in here.
He’ll be sleeping only a thin wall away.
I wait for the discomfort to hit, for the anxiety of the situation to take out my knees, but it never comes.
Quickly stripping out of my clothes, I place them draped over the arm of the chair to give them a chance to dry, and then slip my legs into the flannel pants.
They’re soft, brushed cotton, making them glide up my legs and I tighten them with the laces at the waist but there isn’t much I can do about the length and slip the t-shirt over my head, discarding my bra, then I run my fingers through the messy lengths of my hair.
I know it’s frizzy as all hell, it’s been splashed with water, pulled and tangled, and since I have nothing with me, my fingers will have to do.
I have no idea if I’m remotely presentable when I finally leave the bedroom, I could check but I don’t want to leave Dean waiting for the food, so I hurry down, finding him perched on a stool at the counter, the four pizza boxes open in front of him and two empty glasses in the middle.
He freezes when he sees me, his lips parting a little as his eyes drag down the length of me, and I tug on the hem of my shirt nervously.
“Whiskey, wine, or water?” He offers, snapping out of whatever that was, and gets up from the stool.