Chapter 9 #2
I walk over to where she is leaning against the counter and put my hands on both sides of her. “That you’re shallow.”
Her lips part in shock. “How is that shallow?!”
“You judged me without knowing me.” I put on a disappointed expression. “That also hurts my feelings.”
She tilts her head away. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I have fragile feelings, Miranda. And you keep hurting them.” I maintain the aggrieved facade, and she shakes her head. She’s not pushing me away or complaining that I’ve boxed her in. She just watches me, mildly annoyed.
“Fragile feelings my foot.”
I lean closer, and when her breath catches, I smirk. “Want a glass of wine?”
“If it gets you out of my face, then yes.”
I press my lips to her cheek, and she lets out a startled sound. I feel her move but dance out of her reach when she tries to pinch me. “Too slow.”
Ethan comes thundering back in. “Dad, I’m hungry!”
“Be patient,” I tell him. “The food will get here in a while.”
“I can cut him an apple if he wants.” Miranda picks one up from the fruit bowl. “You want me to cut you one?”
Ethan follows her to the island counter and scrambles onto the stool. As I watch her slice the apple for him, smiling as he goes on and on about the most random topics, I notice the way his legs are kicking happily.
He loves her. It’s written all over him, in the way his legs kick and the way he keeps angling his whole body toward her like she’s something warm and steady.
The sight makes my chest tighten.
She’d be good for him. She already is. And some part of me, the part I’ve spent four years burying under contracts and press schedules and locked doors, recognizes exactly what that means. I know what it costs to let someone in. I know what it costs when they leave.
I’m not doing that again.
She gives me a strange look from across the counter. I realize I’ve been staring. I look away.
The food arrives in eighteen minutes. Ethan eats his noodle dish with the dedication of someone who hasn’t had a meal in days, leaves rings of sauce on three surfaces, and announces with total certainty that he isn’t tired while fighting to keep his eyes open between sentences.
“Bed,” I tell him.
“Not tired.”
“Ethan.”
His lower lip wobbles. He turns to Miranda. “I’m not tired.”
“Your eyes are closing,” she says, smiling at him.
“They’re not.” They are absolutely closing. “Miranda, will you do my bedtime?”
She looks at me, a question in her eyes.
“Bedtime is shower, change into pajamas, and a bedtime story,” I explain.
“Oh.” She looks back at Ethan. “I don’t mind.”
“Go off then.” I wave at them. “I’ll clean up here.”
She slides off the stool. “Come on, Ethan.”
His face transforms completely. He gets down from his chair and grabs her hand and starts talking before they’ve even left the kitchen, something about how many stories she has to read and a specific one about a bear, and I hear her say she doesn’t know that one, and he says, with enormous authority, “I’ll tell it to you,” like she’s the one who needs to be read to.
I stand in the kitchen after they’ve gone.
The house sounds different. Full in a way it usually isn’t.
I put the containers away and wipe the sauce rings off the counter. By the time I’m done washing the dishes, an hour has passed, and there’s silence in the house. Even my sharp hearing can’t catch anything.
Wiping my hands, I head upstairs.
The door to Ethan’s room is open just enough that the nightlight spills into the hallway in a thin line. I push it a little wider and stop. Ethan is on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, his worn bear jammed under his chin. He’s under his blanket, fast asleep.
Miranda is beside him, head tilted toward the pillow, one arm curved loose around my son’s shoulders. She’s fast asleep. The nightlight makes the room softer than it is. I know that. But the thing sitting behind my ribs right now has nothing to do with the light.
Ethan makes a small sound and presses farther into her arm. She doesn’t stir.
My lips curve softly. As much as I don’t mind the two of them sleeping together like this, I know Miranda will be more comfortable on a bigger bed.
Approaching them, I ease Ethan’s arm from around her waist, slide one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, and lift.
She weighs next to nothing, and it bothers me.
I’m halfway down the hallway when she stirs. I feel it before she speaks, the change in the weight of her, the way she goes from slack to present all at once.
“What—” Her head comes up, her eyes find me, and her whole body tightens. “Put me down.”
“Guest room’s at the end of the hall.”
“Grayson.” I can see the hint of panic in her eyes. Not fear but flustered panic. “Put me down right now.”
“You’re going to wake Ethan if you keep shouting at me,” I remind her.
That stops her. She goes still in my arms. Her hand is pressed flat against my chest, and I am very aware of the heat of it through my shirt. I set her down at the guest room door. She steps back the moment her feet touch the floor, putting space between us, smoothing her dress.
Without Ethan in the room between us, the hallway feels smaller than it is.
She looks at the guest room door and then back at me. Neither of us says anything for a beat too long.
“I could use some air,” I mutter, scratching the back of my neck.
She glances toward the stairs. “Fresh air sounds good.”
I grab two beers from the kitchen, one that is a safe human brand and one that only my kind can drink.
She’s already outside when I push through the back door, standing in the yard with her arms folded loosely, looking at the reclining lawn chairs.
The moon is up, and the tree line at the back of the property is silver-edged. She hears me and turns.
“You sit out here a lot?”
I nod. “I don’t like the idea of apartments or homes inside the city. Too cramped and the air is never clean.”
I hand her the beer. She takes it with a wan smile. “Living out here seems better anyway. I don’t like the hustle bustle that much anymore.”
“Anymore?” I sip my beer before shooting her a look.
“I used to, once. Before my mother got sick and my life fell apart. I used to enjoy going out to clubs and drinking and partying. But not anymore. Now I just crave peace and silence.”
“Well, there’s plenty of it here.” I gesture with my beer.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, an envious edge to her voice. When I look at her, though, she’s smiling. “I’m glad you have this for Ethan.”
We sit in the patio chairs, and the silence between us is different tonight, almost as if we’ve reached some sort of truce.
She breathes out slowly, looking at the long stretch of land. “I know it’s simple and there’s not much to look at, but it’s lovely.”
I look at her instead of the land. The moon catches the side of her face and her lashes and the column of her throat. “It is.”
She doesn’t notice I’m not looking at the lawn. Or she pretends not to.
I take a drink and lean back. “I’ve never seen Ethan that happy with anyone.” I keep my voice light. “The way he is with you.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “He’s a sweet kid.”
“He is.”
She glances at me sideways, a quick cut of her eyes. “Which is why it still surprises me that he came from you.”
“I told you. I can be sweet.”
She turns back to the yard. “Like a rattlesnake.”
“Rattlesnakes are—”
“If you say misunderstood, I’m going home.”
I shut my mouth.
She takes a pull of her beer. The corners of her mouth are twitching, and I grin, folding my free arm under my head.
“What are you going to do about the doctor?” I ask finally, looking over at her.
She blinks. “How do you know he’s a doctor?”
“I saw him at the hospital when I came to get my keychain.”
Miranda makes a sound. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I still have to work with him. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll think I’m too much of a hassle and leave me alone.”
“He didn’t seem like the type who likes to take no for an answer. He seemed pretty controlling. That kind can’t handle a blow to their egos.” Even as I utter the words, I clench my jaw. I know Axel’s type well enough. He’s not going to let it go. Maybe I was too hasty.
“Tell them I was rude.”
Miranda blinks. “Come again?”
I shrug, taking another sip of my beer. “Tell him I showed up and caused a scene. Pin it on me. I don’t mind. You can paint me as some disgruntled ex.”
Her lips part, and then she gives me a small smile. “Thanks, but I can fight my own battles.”
“I know you can.”
“Then why do you keep—” She stops and presses her lips together.
“Keep what?”
“Inserting yourself.” Her voice isn’t angry. Just tired. “The parking lot. Tonight. Why?”
I look at her. She looks back, waiting.
“Because watching you carry everything alone is—” I stop and look away. “Forget it.”
She huffs a short breath and shakes her head. “Why are you so against letting me handle things on my own?”
The question sits between us. She doesn’t answer immediately, and I don’t push. I’ve learned that with Miranda, the more you push, the harder she locks down.
“I don’t know how,” she says finally. “To accept help. I never learned it.” She turns the beer bottle in her hands. “And I’m afraid. If I rely on someone, they become necessary. And everything I’ve needed has been taken from me.” She pauses. “So I don’t need things.”
I look at her profile, the way she’s looking down at her beer, that hint of sadness in her gaze, and my chest feels heavy.
“So you just carry everything alone.”
“It’s simpler.” She doesn’t look at me, and I wish she would.
I don’t want to feel like this. I prefer it when we’re arguing and at each other’s throats. This vulnerability is confusing me.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I mutter. “There’s something I left on the counter.”
She nods, already looking back at the garden.
I leave my beer on the ground and head in. I splash some water on my face and grip the edge of the sink.
I need her for Ethan. That’s what I keep telling myself.
I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen door. That sad expression on her face is still sitting behind my eyes, and I can’t shake it.
Why can’t I shake it?