Chapter 13 — The Wall And The Room #2
Loved out loud, at least inside these walls.
My throat went tight enough that breathing took work. I looked at the blank wall, then at the photos spread across the island, then at Reese, and for one second I felt so loved it almost hurt.
Eden was still holding the Fourth of July photo, and the look on her face had shifted from controlled amusement to something warmer, quieter.
"I'm in," she said, and her voice was easy except for the way her fingers had tightened on the edge of the print.
"But I get veto power on any photo where my hair looks stupid, which is most of them, because lake wind is a war crime. "
Reese laughed, bright and real, and hooked an arm through Eden's. "Deal. But you have to help me sort. There are approximately seven thousand photos in this box, and my attention span is theoretical."
They dove in. Reese pulling stacks, Eden sorting with Archer precision that turned chaos into system, arguing over which photos made the cut, laughing at old haircuts and bad outfits and the fact that I'd been wearing the same polo shirt every summer for approximately a decade.
The noise brought the others. Tatum first, bouncing down the stairs in cutoffs and one of my t-shirts, copper hair flying, freckles dark against flushed skin.
"PHOTOS? I HEARD PHOTOS. I REQUIRE IMMEDIATE PHOTO ACCESS, THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
She landed at the island and within six seconds had an armful of prints and was narrating each one at the breathless speed of someone who treated memory as a competitive sport.
"Oh my God, this one. That's the day I fell off the paddleboard and Luke jumped in after me and then I pretended to drown as a joke and he almost had a heart attack, which was mean, very mean, but also look at his face, he's so scared, poor Luke."
Shay appeared from the hall bathroom, dark hair in a towel, wearing nothing but one of my tees that hung to mid-thigh, and the way she crossed the kitchen, barefoot and completely unselfconscious, made the whole thing feel like it had always been happening here.
"Give me that," she said, plucking a photo from Tatum's hands.
"This is going on the wall. Non-negotiable.
That's the night I convinced everyone to sneak onto the Archer dock after midnight and Luke caught us and instead of being mad he brought blankets and let us stay, which is when I knew he was trouble. "
Kiki emerged from the hallway, golden hair loose and damp, and the efficiency with which she assessed the situation made the whole thing feel choreographed rather than chaotic.
"Frames," she said. "We need frames. Lots of frames. Different sizes. Warm wood. Something that feels like us." She looked at me, and the smile she gave was warm and certain. "You good with this? Really good?"
I nodded. Couldn't speak. Six women in my kitchen, arguing over photos of our shared history, turning my blank wall into proof of something that had been real long before I admitted it.
Penny arrived last, platinum hair sleek even in casualness, green eyes bright behind her composure.
She picked up a photo of all of us at a lake party, my arm around her waist, both of us looking at the camera with the awareness of people who knew what the moment meant, and the smile she gave was slow and certain and completely meant.
"This one," she said. "Front and center. Non-negotiable."
They worked. Reese and Eden sorting, Tatum bouncing between stacks with the kinetic energy of a woman who couldn't be contained by a single task, Shay making dirty jokes about old bathing suits, Kiki organizing frames with Bishop precision, Penny arranging the layout with the eye of someone who treated aesthetics as a form of affection.
They argued over every choice. They laughed at bad haircuts and worse outfits.
They told stories I'd forgotten and stories I remembered perfectly, and through all of it the wall filled, photo by photo, frame by frame, the seven of us across years becoming something visible and permanent and real.
I stood in the doorway and watched them work, and the rightness of it, not just lovers, not just a secret, but family, the word Reese had used, sitting on my wall where anyone who walked into my kitchen could see it, settled over me like something I'd been missing without knowing the name for the hole.
When they were done, the wall was full. Not crowded.
Curated. Photos of me with each of them, alone and together, across summers and storms and dock days and birthdays, and the through-line, me constant, these six women growing up around me before becoming the women now filling my house, was so clear it should have been visible from space.
Reese stepped back, arm linked with Eden's, and her smile was bright and a little wobbly. "There," she said. "Now it's official."
Eden kept looking at the photo of herself at the birthday party that now hung third from the left. She didn't say anything, which was its own kind of answer.
"Thank you," I said, and the words came out rough and wrecked.
Reese's hand found mine, squeezed, and the warmth of it, simple and certain, said everything her mouth didn't need to.
The errand was Eden's idea, which meant it was only pretending to be an errand.
Kiki needed to grab another bag from Reese and Eden's place.
Shay claimed she was going because someone had to make sure Kiki didn't come back with "reasonable things" instead of the fun stuff.
Reese wanted a few more photo boxes from her parents' garage, and Eden said she had clothes, shoes, and one very important makeup case still sitting by her bed.
All of that sounded practical.
None of it explained why Tatum and Penny were suddenly very quiet.
Or why Kiki kissed my cheek on the way out and murmured, "Have fun."
Or why Shay pointed at Tatum and Penny with two fingers, then pointed at me, then made an expression so obscene it should have required a permit.
Reese smiled like she was trying not to smile.
Eden put on her sunglasses inside my kitchen and looked at me over the top of them. "We should be back in an hour. Maybe ninety minutes if traffic is emotionally inconvenient."
"There isn't traffic between here and your house. It’s literally four doors down."
"Then I guess we'll have to invent some."
***
The front door closed behind the other four with the finality of a conspiracy reaching its execution phase, and I turned from the window to find Tatum and Penny standing in my living room wearing identical expressions of zero innocence and one hundred percent intention.
"Well," Tatum said, bouncing on her toes, copper hair flying, freckles standing out against flushed skin. "That was convenient. Very convenient. Very orchestrated, actually, which I'm not admitting to, but also not denying, because denial is boring."
Penny laughed, the sound low and warm, and crossed to me with the Rourke glide that turned walking into something else entirely. Her palm pressed flat against my chest where she could feel my heartbeat, and the look in her green eyes wasn't a question.
"We've been talking," she said, and her thumb brushed my lower lip.
"Quite a lot. Very thorough planning. The consensus, unanimous, very democratic, is that we want you.
Together. Right now. In Tatum's room, because hers is the furthest from the front door and also the most fun, which are both important considerations. "
My cock hardened against my zipper so fast I saw stars.
"Together," I managed.
"Together," Tatum confirmed, already in front of me, her hands finding my waist with the Bell fearlessness that treated my body as an extension of her own.
"Penny has ideas. I have ideas. We have combined ideas, which are the best kind, because they involve both of us and all of you and approximately zero clothing, which is my personal favorite clothing amount. "
They moved me. Not with force, with the coordinated pressure of two women who had decided exactly what they wanted and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
Tatum's hand in mine, pulling toward the stairs.
Penny's hand on the small of my back, her body warm against my side, her perfume mixing with Tatum's brighter, spicier scent.
Up the stairs, down the hall, and then Tatum's door was open.
The room hit me like a warm wave of chaos and color and Bell energy.
Fairy lights strung across the ceiling in loose loops.
Throw pillows everywhere in bright patterns, ridiculous shapes, at least one that looked like a cartoon avocado.
The stuffed unicorn from the fair sitting on the windowsill, keeping watch over the lake.
The walls painted something between coral and pink that defied categorization.
Photos tacked up of us at the fair, by the pool, in the kitchen the morning after her first time, both of us looking wrecked and happy.
Clothes on every surface. A candle burning on the nightstand, vanilla and something spicier underneath.
It was so completely Tatum that it made my chest tight and my cock harder and my hands find her waist without permission.
Penny stepped in behind me and closed the door with a soft click that sounded louder than it was. Then her hands were on the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head with Rourke efficiency that treated undressing as foreplay.
"Arms up," she said, and I obeyed, because Penny giving orders in that voice turned my brain to static.
Tatum's hands found my belt, working it open with fingers that shook slightly from excitement rather than nerves, and the way she looked up at me, blue eyes bright, freckles dark against flushed skin, copper hair wild around her shoulders, nearly ended me before we'd started.
"Hi," she said, grinning. "Remember me? The girl who falls? She catches now."