Chapter 19 #2
Our trip home passed in complete silence.
Anders sat in the passenger seat with his arms wrapped around his midsection.
My hand never left his thigh. The only movement came when he shifted his leg closer to mine.
My thumb traced slow, steady arcs against his jeans.
Every so often, he glanced my way, but he didn’t speak.
When I pulled up to the house, his gaze flicked toward the cottage.
“You’re coming inside with me.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded and got out of the car.
I rounded the hood to open his door, but I was too late. Instead, I took his hand and walked him up the steps. Inside, I tugged off his jacket, then mine, and tossed them onto the entry bench. I guided him straight to my bedroom, set him in front of the sink, and turned on the shower.
“You don’t need to take care of me. I’m fine,” he said quietly.
“I absolutely do,” I replied. “Whether you’re fine or not.”
I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and handed it to him, then adjusted the water. Within a minute, steam filled the bathroom.
“Get in the shower,” I said gently. “You’ll feel better after. I’m going to fix something to eat, and then you’re getting into bed.”
“Seriously, you don’t need to do this. I can just go home. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“We can talk about that some other time,” I said, firm but calm. “Not now.”
I left him in the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, opening cupboards and the refrigerator, looking for something easy to serve on a tray. We’d skipped lunch, figuring there’d be a big dinner and dessert at Jakob’s birthday. Anders would be starving by now if he even remembered he was hungry.
With more coordination than I thought I had in me, I headed back to the bedroom with the tray.
Anders had followed my instructions. He was under the covers, sitting up against the headboard, his long hair air-drying and loose around his shoulders.
His blue eyes were a little red-rimmed. Maybe he’d gotten soap in them. Maybe he’d cried in the shower.
“I got a snack for now, and then I’ll order some dinner,” I said.
I set the tray across his lap. It was simple. Slices of cheese, crackers, some summer sausage, a cut-up apple, and a glass of water. Anders nodded and began to nibble.
“I don’t know what happened today,” he said out of the blue.
I desperately wanted to tell him what I’d overheard the boys saying.
“No?” I asked carefully.
“Maybe it was just too much. With everything else that’s happened the last couple of weeks.” He nodded and took another bite.
He opened his mouth a few times like he wanted to say something, then closed it just as quickly. I could see him wrestling with it. The need to talk versus the need to stay quiet. I wasn’t sure which one would win.
“Actually…that’s not true,” Anders said after a pause. “The boys said they thought you were my Daddy.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
“I’m not a little.”
“Neither is Micah, and he’s got a Daddy,” I said gently. “I don’t think being a little is required. And even if it were, there’s no rulebook. The Daddy-little police aren’t going to knock on anyone’s door.”
That earned me a small chuckle.
“Maybe it’s the title,” Anders said. He stared off for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’ve had Daddies before.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“What happened,” he said with a bitter snort, “is that I have incredibly shitty taste in men. By the time John came along, I couldn’t even say the word without wanting to kick myself for ever thinking it was for me.”
“Does Rory know? Or anyone else?”
“No.” Anders stared down at his hands. “My problems shouldn’t become their problems.”
My heart broke for him. I’d never met anyone so kind, so generous, so loving. The idea that anyone could take that and use it against him made something sharp and angry twist in my chest.
“Call me Emmie. We don’t have to use words you aren’t comfortable with, but”—I paused until he looked at me—“that’s what I want to be for you.”
“E-e-Emmie,” Anders said, trying it out like he needed to roll it around his tongue and taste it. “It’s a nice name.”
“Thanks. I hope you’ll use it. There’s no right way to do this. There can just be our way.”
Anders offered me a cracker sandwich from his plate. I reached for it, but he pulled away until I put my hand back down. When I let him feed me, a small smile played across his lips.
“I think I like it.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Rather than force the moment, I grabbed the TV remote and turned it on. I scrolled until I found Schitt’s Creek.
“This okay?”
“Always a yes.”
We spent the rest of the evening watching episodes we’d both seen more than once but never got old. Our Thai delivery was quick and exactly what we needed. Anders only texted the group chat once to say he was home and that he loved them.
After a few episodes, Anders yawned wide, his eyes drooping, his words slowing.
“Sweet boy, it’s time for bed.”
“All right. Ugh. I need to brush out my hair, or it’ll be a tangled mess in the morning. Do you happen to have a brush?”
“Yeah. My sister probably left a spare one somewhere. Let me look.”
I forced myself out of bed and down the hall to the guest bathroom. After a few minutes of rummaging, I found one. When I came back to the bedroom, Anders was sitting in the center of the bed, finger-combing his hair.
“Look what I found,” I said by way of announcing myself.
His grateful smile was everything.
“Come here. Sit on the ottoman.”
He gave me a puzzled look but slid off the bed in his borrowed sleep clothes and onto the padded seat.
“Why’d you need me to move?”
“Because I’ve had dreams about this.”
I made the first pass of the brush, slow and careful. I started on one side, worked my way around, then returned. Anders sat perfectly still, and even so, I felt the tension leave him.
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
“What’s so funny?”
“Back in high school, Lila was obsessed with reading auras. I learned about them by default. She would’ve said you’re blue. Cornflower blue, to be exact.”
“Exactly how long ago was high school?” he murmured.
“Twenty years, give or take.”
“And you still remember?”
“I do.”
I brushed his hair until it was smooth and tangle-free.
My free hand rested on his shoulder when I wasn’t using it to smooth his hair.
Truthfully, I could’ve stopped long before I did.
I just wasn’t ready to let him go. His breath smoothed and evened out.
Every instinct in me wanted to pull him closer.
I didn’t. Wanting him wasn’t the same as taking him, and he needed this more.
The circumstances that brought us here weren’t great.
But the moment itself felt inevitable.