Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Kemp
There used to be a time when running was like a meditation for me. My refuge. My escape. I found solace in the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement.
Running with Oliver in our new stroller was…different. It was anything but a meditation.
This was our first time out, so probably there was a learning curve. I hoped I’d get better at it.
The running wasn’t the problem. I got a decent workout, particularly since it was my first time back at it since bringing Oliver home.
Fitness had always been a regular part of my life.
It had to be for the firefighting job. But becoming a father had thrown even my strongest habits into chaos.
I needed to get back to where I’d been in time for the fire department’s physical test.
A light snow was falling, but the sidewalks were warm enough that nothing stuck, so it wasn’t slick.
But I worried whether Oliver was warm enough.
Then I worried whether the ride was too bumpy for him.
When I was about two miles out, I worried whether I could get my ass back home as I realized I’d been too ambitious for my first time after a multiweek break.
I made it though. As soon as I caught my breath and steered the stroller into the garage, I realized Oliver was sound asleep, snug as a bug. I’d worried about him for nothing.
I carefully unbuckled him and pulled him into my arms as gently as I could. He wasn’t due for another bottle for a couple of hours, so I’d put him to bed and get some reading done for my leadership class that I was already behind on.
When I entered through the front door, Anna was in the living room, sitting on the sofa with her back to me. The TV was on, and she was crocheting something. She didn’t turn around, so I snuck past to Oliver’s room, noting that her crochet hook was moving with a vengeance, as if she was upset.
She’d gone out to the ranch where her brother lived. I was betting it hadn’t gone well.
Once I had Oliver settled in his crib, I took a quick shower and pulled on clean sweatpants and a tee, then headed out to check on Anna. My class reading would have to wait.
“Hey,” I said quietly as I walked around the sofa.
Her jaw was set tight, and she didn’t immediately reply. I sat down next to her, my concern growing.
“What did Ryder do now?” I asked.
Anna glanced sideways at me, her hook still going fast and furiously through a large skein of variegated aqua yarn. When I looked at her lap, I realized she was nine or ten inches into a scarf I hadn’t seen her working on before.
“He says he won’t come to another anything if our mom is there,” she said succinctly, her anger obvious.
Several thoughts flashed through my head, but I filtered through them to find something that would help Anna right now. “He’s probably still pissed at your mom. I bet he’ll change his mind.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her hook kept moving as if she was on a mission from a higher power to crochet an entire scarf before sleeping.
“Whatcha making there?” I asked, hoping to distract her from her lunkhead of a brother.
“Scarf.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did you just start it tonight?”
She nodded, and my brows went up.
“Isn’t this supposed to relax you?” I asked.
Anna scoffed. “It’s not working.” She crocheted a few more stitches, set the hook and yarn aside, then clicked the TV off. “Ryder said my attempts to keep the family intact are preventing everyone from getting past what happened to Cassie.”
“What?”
“Right? Is that crazy? Or is it true, Kemp? Am I the problem?”
“You’re not the problem, Anna. You’re the glue that holds them together.”
“But apparently he doesn’t want to be held together to this family, so why do I even try?”
“That’s a question only you can answer,” I said, keeping my voice gentle, even though the urge to shake some sense into her brother—or maybe punch him—surged through me. And I was friends with the guy.
“It’s been twenty-three years, Kemp,” she said. “My family is still a mess.”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t get any arguments from me on that. “Do you really think your mom can work through anything at this point? It’s like her mental health has been frozen in time since the accident.”
“Not without professional help,” Anna said. “I don’t know how anyone could expect to weather their child’s death without a whole lot of therapy.”
The idea of something terrible happening to Oliver slashed through my mind and stole my breath, like a physical blow to the chest. I’d always felt the utmost sympathy for Anna’s whole family—hell, nine-year-old Cassie’s death had shattered me too—but now that I had my own child, I couldn’t fathom how a parent would navigate that loss.
My body went cold at the thought. I shoved it out of my head and tried to breathe. I managed to choke out a “Yeah.”
“The reason my dad left was because she wouldn’t get help,” Anna continued. “They grieved in different ways, at different rates, he told me once. He did his best to work through it, while she became stuck.”
“She still is.”
“Exactly. And if losing a husband isn’t enough incentive to get help, I don’t know why I thought anything I could say would ever work. Maybe I am the idiot here.”
I squeezed her legging-covered thigh above her knee.
“You are not an idiot, Anna. You’re the most giving, caring person I know.
I had a front-row seat to your family’s tragedy.
You each had your own reaction. Your mom couldn’t cope with it.
She shut down. Your dad disconnected from everything and turned inward as he worked through it.
Ryder blamed himself and turned that into anger at the world.
You? Even as you mourned your little sister, you tried to help everyone else.
At thirteen years old, you were the closest thing your family had to a rock. ”
“Which I could only do because I had you.”
“And a kick-ass tree house.” How many nights had we snuck out and met in the tree house at the back of her yard, then talked for hours?
“My refuge,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve gotten through those years without you.”
“But you got through them, and you tried to be there for everyone in your family. You made your mother eat. You kept the house up both before and after your dad left. You made sure Ryder knew he could talk to you.”
“He never would.”
“But he talked to someone.”
“He’s worked through a lot,” she continued. “He’s still a grumpy prick sometimes, but he’s so much better than he was as a teenager.”
“Kids obviously still mess with his head though.” I frowned. “Even knowing he keeps his distance from them, I was taken aback by his refusal to so much as look at Oliver that day at your place.”
“I know. I didn’t even think about it when I invited you. I would’ve expected him to handle it better because you’re his friend and Oliver’s your son. Like, you’re practically family to him.”
“It stunned me,” I said honestly. “He still has work to do.”
“Well, apparently he’s ‘done,’ so that seems to be out of the question, even though I suggested it would be a good idea now that I’m living here with you and Oliver.”
I scooted closer to her and put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to my side.
My mind went back to the last time I’d had my hands on her, to what started as an innocent New Year’s hug.
I now had strict limits in my head as to what was okay and what wasn’t when it came to touching Anna.
Side hugs were okay. Side hugs were supportive.
I waited, holding my breath, to see if she’d allow it. Before she’d moved in, neither of us would’ve thought anything of it. After that kiss, everything was different.
She didn’t move for a handful of seconds, as if deciding what to do. Then she tilted her head toward me and rested it on my shoulder.
Everything in me eased, and I subtly let out my breath, closed my eyes. Breathed in her familiar scent.
“I’m sorry Ryder was a jackass,” I said quietly. “Maybe something else is going on that we don’t know about?”
“Even if there is, he doesn’t need to take it out on me.”
“No. He shouldn’t take anything out on you. You’ve only ever been good in his life.”
“According to him, I’m the problem for everyone,” she said, popping her head up off my shoulder, riled again.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Normally I’d say no. My mom’s the problem. Ryder’s the problem. The friction between them is the problem. He got me thinking though. Maybe our family just isn’t meant to be close. Maybe the problem is me trying to force them to stay together.”
“You do put a lot of energy toward them,” I said.
Over the years, I’d wanted to knock her mom’s and brother’s heads together frequently for the frustration and pain they caused Anna.
“What if I just…stopped?” she asked.
“What if you did?”
She went quiet, seemingly thinking that through. I could practically feel her mind churning.
“You know what?” she eventually said. “Screw them both. I can’t force them to fix their mental health.”
“No, you can’t. You’ve been trying for years.”
“It’s pointless, and I’m tired.”
“It’s not your job,” I agreed. “They need to do the work. You can’t make them. If you could, it would’ve happened years ago.”
“What if they never do?”
“It sucks, but that’s their problem.”
The quiet swirled between us for a minute or two, and I could tell she was processing.
“What if I lose what’s left of my family?” she asked.
I considered my answer carefully. “For one thing, you’ll have a lot less frustration in your life.”
“Probably true.”
“What do your mom and Ryder give you, besides a headache and a shit ton of frustration?”
“Sometimes Ryder and I get along. Like when we ride together.”
“Maybe you can still have those moments.”
She made a doubt-filled sound. “I don’t know. Maybe I finally see the light.”
“You’ve still got your dad.” I didn’t have to tell her I’d give anything to have my dad back.
Anna nodded.
“And me and Oliver,” I added.
“Thank God for you and Oliver.”
I pulled her closer and closed my eyes, damn glad she felt that way.
“Maybe we should build him a tree house,” I said.
“Oliver?” I could hear her smile. “I think he’s a little young.”
With a low chuckle, I said, “It’s not like I have time right now, but we could start planning one.”
“There’s that fat-trunked tree. We could make one with that going through the middle. I always wished I had a tree going right through the middle of mine.”
“I was thinking of the treed area in the corner. The trunks aren’t as big, but it would feel more like the woods.”
“True. You could still have one going through the middle.”
I grinned at her fascination with a tree going through the middle. “What if we built something in two phases? We could do a lower level first, just a couple feet off the ground for when he’s a toddler. An elevated playhouse. Then we could make a second level—”
“Oh, a spiral staircase going up,” she said. “Maybe around a tree trunk.”
“Or maybe just a ladder.” I cringed to think of the complexity of a spiral staircase. “We could build a lookout tower.”
“And a captain’s quarters on the second level.”
“I wonder if we could put a trap door in somewhere.”
We went back and forth, dreaming up the best tree house for my son. A captain’s wheel, a rope bridge, a tire swing, a kitchen…
I woke up to find myself stretched out on the sofa, spooning Anna, her hair tickling my face. My body went hard the instant I registered her closeness. Without moving, I tried to get my bearings while shoving down the alarm that pulsed through my head.
Sleeping with Anna in my arms? Waking up to the scent of her berry shampoo? The softness of her backside?
Definitely not okay.
I raised my arm to check the time on my watch. It was 12:55 a.m.
My alarm switched to full-on panic as I remembered Oliver had been in his crib since eight and should’ve woken up for a bottle hours ago.
All thoughts of not waking Anna disappeared as I sprang up, climbed over the back of the sofa, and ran to check on my son.
Anna
I’d woken up a few minutes ago and had been secretly soaking in the feeling of Kemp stretched along my backside when I’d sensed him waking up.
He must have heard Oliver stirring, because he popped up and hurried to his son’s room without a word to me.
I took the opportunity to bask in the remnants of his warmth and comfort. I hugged a throw pillow to me as I rolled onto my back and stretched lethargically.
I had no memory of how we’d come to be stretched out together or who’d drifted off first. The last thing I remembered was talking about a tree house for Oliver.
Was sleeping together on the couch strongly ill-advised? Yes. Yes, it was. But we’d managed to just sleep. That cuddle had been comforting, supportive, and steeped in our lifelong friendship.
Except…
I rolled to my other side, into the space Kemp had occupied, breathing in the faint scent of him.
I’d felt his body harden the moment his breathing changed from deep and regular to shallow.
I’d held my breath, afraid to let on that I was awake.
I’d lain here with all my senses attuned to him, to his body, questioning whether I was really feeling what I thought I was.
There was no question though. Kemp’s erection had been nestled against my backside for a blissful minute before he’d run to his son.
I curled into the blanket I’d made for him that was normally draped over the back of the couch, wondering…
Did guys get morning wood at one in the morning? They didn’t, did they? Was that because he was wrapped around me, or was it random?
I’d been programmed to believe I didn’t do it for Kemp ever since we were twenty and I’d made a total fool of myself by coming on to him. He’d clearly not been into me that way back then, and he’d given no signs in the years since of anything different.
Until New Year’s Eve, when he’d kissed me back. And now this.
My eyes popped wide open.
Was it just that I was a girl and he was a guy? Would his body react like that regardless of what woman he found himself curled up with?
Or…did he feel more than friendship toward me? Was there a chance he felt even a fraction of what I felt for him?
My chest went warm and liquid as I allowed myself to imagine that possibility. It felt farfetched and self-indulgent, yet I couldn’t convince myself it wasn’t real.
I couldn’t quite convince myself it was real either, but instead of pushing it away, I pulled the possibility around me like a warm, protective blanket as I got off the couch and headed to my bedroom.
I’d already embarrassed myself twice by acting on my feelings for him. I wasn’t dumb enough to do it again. So instead, I’d revel in the memory of being wrapped up in his arms and be thankful I had him in whatever way I had him.