Текст книги "Hold On"

Автор книги: Kristen Ashley

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

I stilled.

Mia?

“You gonna calm down?”

I stared at the wall.

Merry’s wall.

Merry’s wall in Merry’s bedroom in his crappy condo.

I’m in love with you.

The words should have given me something else.

Instead, they opened me up for it to come.

And it came.

Oh yeah, it came.

The pain.

The pain of shame.

Fast. So fucking fast. No way to hold it back. It tore through me in a way I couldn’t hold it back. Not anymore. I couldn’t bury it. I couldn’t stop it overwhelming me.

My legs buckled under the weight of it and I slid down the wall.

I didn’t hit the floor.

I heard, “Jesus, baby,” and I was up.

I curled into him, and when we were down and my ass was in his lap, I burrowed into him.

Through this they fell.

The tears.

Uncontrolled.

Choking me.

Drowning me.

They felt strange. Hot. Ticklish. Shameful.

Hateful.

“I’m right here, Cherie,” he murmured, one arm holding me tight, the other hand stroking my hair. “Not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here. Talk to me. Where’d that shit come from? What’s goin’ on, honey?”

I tried to suck in breath.

Through the sobs, I barely got any in.

I burrowed closer like he could give me oxygen.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Just hold on and get it out.”

I did as told.

I held on and let it go.

He held on too. He stroked me.

And he absorbed it.

This went on for what felt like years before I started to quiet.

He said nothing. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

He just kept holding me, stroking me, and letting me let go.

Just like Merry.

Perfect.

“I should have known,” I whispered into his skin.

“Shoulda known what, brown eyes?” Merry whispered back.

“He did me on my stomach. Hands and knees. Only those. He never let me look at him. I thought it was his kink, but I should have known that wasn’t kink. It was sick. I didn’t know that if he let me look at him, he would have seen me. Me. And he wouldn’t have been fucking Feb.”

I wheezed as Merry quit stroking and both his arms tightened so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

Just as quickly as he did it, his arms loosened.

But not by much.

“I triggered a memory,” he muttered.

He did.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Fuck.”

I pushed even closer. “Not your fault.”

He was silent a second before he urged gently, “Give it to me.”

I took my moment of silence before I said softly, “In the beginning, before I learned, learned what he didn’t like, he held me down and would say it. ‘Stay down.’”

“Fuck,” he repeated.

“Not your fault, Merry.”

“We’ll avoid me fuckin’ you on your belly in the future. And definitely those words.”

I closed my eyes tight. “No.”

“Cher—”

It took a lot to pull my shit together and give him my puffy eyes, my red face, any ability to look at me at all after that scene.

But I did it and I did it because he was Garrett Merrick.

I looked at him.

He wasn’t freaked. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t angry.

He looked troubled.

And he looked upset.

For me.

Yes, that’s why I could look the way I looked after what had just given me that look and give the evidence of it all to Garrett Merrick.

“He doesn’t get that,” I told him.

Merry put a hand to my face, rubbing his thumb through the wet on my cheek. “Whatever you want.”

“All that was going down, us getting together, my neighbor, your ex, Trent and Peggy, I didn’t…” I trailed off but finished, “You were my first…after him. I should have guessed I’d need to keep a handle on it. I didn’t guess.”

Merry didn’t reply. He just watched his thumb slide across my cheek.

“You think I’m a girl,” I muttered.

His thumb stilled and his eyes cut to mine. “What?”

“Freaking out. Falling apart. Sobbing in your arms,” I explained.

His face froze and his body under mine got tight.

And his voice sounded weird when he noted, “Honey, you are a girl.”

“Yes, but—”

“And I’m pretty fuckin’ glad you’re a girl.”

He would be.

“Of course, but—”

“And seriously, you havin’ it totally together with this relationship thing was fuckin’ with my man mojo. Takin’ on my shit. Balancing me and your kid. Building two relationships at the same time—the one we got, the one you gave me with Ethan. Weathering every storm like it’s nothin’ but sprinkles. Not a big fan of you losin’ your mind in my bedroom after I fuck you. But there are far worse things than bein’ there for my girl while she cries in my arms and lets go of some serious shit that’s burning a hole in her soul. It means something to me that you trusted me with that. It means something that you trusted me to be strong enough to handle it.”

I stared at him.

“Though, don’t make it a habit. My brown-eyed girl is a girl, but she’s also a tough chick,” he went on.

That was a tease. He didn’t mean it.

I could cry in his arms every day of my life and he wouldn’t give a shit.

(Though, I’d never do that.)

I kept staring at him, doing it for the first time since it all went down with Dennis Lowe, feeling safe, being safe, totally safe to let it go.

But as I did it, my eyes filled with tears again.

I felt one break free and slide down my cheek.

Merry watched it go.

I started talking.

“I was so stupid.”

Merry looked back at me.

“So stupid,” I repeated. “He didn’t want to meet my mom. He never asked us to his place. I never met any of his friends. His bullshit in bed was fucked up. Even if it was kink, I should have had more self-respect than to let him do that to me. And it wasn’t that I didn’t see it, Merry. It wasn’t that I didn’t put it together. It was all textbook at the very least for him being married but also him bein’ possibly fucked in the head. So it wasn’t that I couldn’t put it together. It was that I refused to see it, because after my dad, after a bunch of shit guys treated me like crap, after Trent, I needed so badly to believe. To believe I could find some happy. So I refused to see. And that’s bad enough just for me. But I exposed Ethan to that. I exposed my baby boy to that kind of crazy just because I wanted us to have a little bit of happy.”

“You weren’t stupid, Cherie.”

“I so was.”

He gave me a squeeze. “In all their years together, how many signs do you think Lowe gave his wife?”

“I know, but—” I tried to cut in.

I failed.

“I never met her,” Merry spoke over me. “But every word said about her was that she was nice, people liked her, and no one said she was dumb. Men like him, it’s part of the sickness, sweetheart, finding the skills to hide he’s sick. He needed something from you and he turned on the charm to get it, by that time having had years to hone his skills at manipulating things to get what he wanted to feed the sick at the same time hide it. He played you, Cher. That’s all he did. The reasons why were worse than the usual player who uses those skills to get you in bed or a con man who does the same to orchestrate his score. But in the end, that’s all it was. And you are far from the first person, woman or man, mother or not, who trusted someone enough to get played.”

I was staring at him again because something about the way he laid that out felt like a knot was being untied inside me. It had been tied together to hold back something important, something crucial, and whatever that was, it finally was let loose.

Or maybe it was that and freaking out on him, attacking him, and dissolving into a sobbing mess in his arms.

Whatever…that knot loosened, that thing inside me untied, it loosened something else.

My mouth.

Thus, I blurted, “I love you.”

“No shit?”

I didn’t stare at that.

I blinked.

Then I asked, “I say, ‘I love you,’ and you say, ‘no shit?’”

“Babe, had my head in my ass, bein’ my own brand of stupid, so I didn’t see it. But when I looked back, I saw it.” His lips quirked. “So yeah. No shit. Seein’ as you been in love with me a long time.”

Oh fuck.

He’d figured that out.

“I have not,” I lied.

“Liar,” he called me on it.

I started to push away.

His arms got tighter.

“Cherie, I love you too.”

He sounded like he was struggling not only against me pulling away but also laughter.

Regardless of the fact that I totally…fucking…loved hearing those words directed at me from Garrett “Merry” Merrick’s beautiful mouth, I was me.

So I stopped pushing and glared at him. “I know. You shared that when you had me pinned against the wall.”

“Honey, you drew blood and nearly got me in the balls…twice. It was either pin you or let you have at it and then go to the emergency room.”

I felt my eyes get big. “I drew blood?”

“Back,” he grunted. “Nails. It’s nothing.”

I stretched to try and see his back. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

I glared at him again. “Let me see, Merry.”

“Not right now. Later. Now, one thing we gotta get straight—”

“I’ll talk to Doc,” I stated, guessing at what he wanted to get straight. “Ask him if maybe I should talk to someone about PTSD or something so you can fuck me on my stomach, because pre-ax murderer, I liked it like that.”

Merry grinned at me. “Baby, you put up a helluva fight and you were seriously gone, but if you can be glib about therapy for PTSD for the sake of not losin’ a sex position, I think you’re good.”

I hoped so because Feb and Morrie had good insurance, but I had no idea if it covered psychological shit and I had an extra name on my Christmas list now, an important one, and I was already giving up my candy and makeup habits (not all of them but some) in order to save to give it to him good. I didn’t need therapy bills.

“Okay, so if you weren’t gonna get up in my face about seein’ someone to sort my shit out, what do we gotta talk about?” I asked.

“The fact that you clearly think it’s weak to show emotion and to describe ‘weak’ you refer to bein’ a girl. Showing emotion isn’t weak. Showing emotion takes a lot of courage. Trusting someone to give shit to that you can’t hold inside anymore isn’t weak either. I know this because a wise, pretty, brown-eyed woman told me this not two months ago. And if we have girls, I don’t want you teachin’ them that they can’t be girls however they wanna be girls and that anything girl-like is weak. ‘Cause that shit ain’t right.”

I was staring again.

Then I was weeping again.

Finally, I was blurting again.

“If we have girls?”

“You want more kids?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Then that can happen, fifty-fifty chance, and if they like butterflies and flowers and have no interest in bein’ tough chicks, gotta know you’re on board with that.”

I was on board.

So on board.

Still whispering (and blurting and weeping), I said, “I love you.”

Merry was whispering too when he replied, “Love you too, Cherie.”

“Can I look at your back now?” I asked softly.

He fell back, doing it twisting.

When he had me back to the bed and him pressed into me, he said, “After I fuck you again.”

My arms around him tightened as my brows went up. “Not concerned about another episode?”

“This time I do you, I’ll be lookin’ in your eyes.”

I liked it like that.

Enough to lift my head and press my lips to his.

He pushed back so my head was to the pillow and opened his mouth.

Our tongues tangled at the same time.

Merry didn’t do me looking in my eyes the whole time.

But it was me who lost eye contact when he made me come.

I would find out later I did draw blood on his back. Two lines, one deeper than the other along his shoulder blade.

I was careful as I washed them in the shower. I gooed them up with Neosporin before we snarfed down donuts.

But the ointment ended up on Merry’s sheets.

What could I say?

We had the whole day.

We were young, healthy.

We loved each other.

And that was worth a repeat.

We loved each other.

I loved Merry and Merry loved me.

Life was good.

For once.

With a hopeful forecast for the future.

Finally.

So it was time to fuck.

* * * * *

Saturday Night

“Babe?”

I was nearly asleep, fucked out and cuddled into my man.

“Mm?”

“Keep an eye, open communication, it happens again, you got shit messin’ with your head, we talk. You need it, we take you to Doc.”

I opened my eyes.

My man took care of me.

I closed them again.

“Whatever you want,” I whispered.

He pulled me closer.

“Love you, brown eyes,” he murmured.

Yeah.

Life was good.

“Love you too, Merry,” I replied.

Not long after, snuggled to Garrett Merrick, I fell asleep.

* * * * *

Garrett

Sunday Morning

Cher was in a certain mood.

That mood was moving her to taste him, slow and light, everywhere.

He liked it a fuckuva lot, but they’d been busy. He had news he hadn’t shared.

“Baby,” he called.

“Mm?” she murmured against his abs.

“Come up here,” he ordered.

She lifted her eyes to him. “Headed in a different direction, honey.”

He grinned. “Come here a sec.”

She studied him a beat before she slid up until they were face-to-face.

She rested her chest against his.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“There were a lot of variables, wanted to make sure it all went down—the inspection, what I asked to be fixed, what I was gonna suck up—so I didn’t tell you just in case it fell through. It all got worked out. Now I can tell you. Got an offer on the condo coupla weeks ago, took it. Sold the boat. I used that and savings as the down payment. Closing is set for Thursday on the house.”

She stared into his eyes. “What house?”

“Lake house,” he told her. “I close on this place in three weeks. Get that money, use some of it to do some updates. But I’m gonna have to live there while they get done.”

“You’re closing on the lake house.”

“Yeah.”

“That house you showed me on your laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re closing on that.”

He grinned again. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna live there?”

His grin got bigger. “That’s what I said.”

“Ethan and me get sleepovers?”

They’d start with that.

They’d end with him having a lake house that looked like Jim Morrison bought the place, not Garrett.

He rolled her and answered, “Oh yeah.”

She was now on the bottom, staring up at him.

She did this awhile without speaking.

Then she declared, “For a housewarming, I get to buy you a kickass grill.”

He’d let her do that.

“You’re on.”

“And twenty tiki torches.”

Garrett burst out laughing.

When he was done, he saw she was smiling.

His brown-eyed girl…happy.

He knew a way to make her happier.

And he was on top.

So he dipped down and set about doing that.

In the end, he succeeded.

Chapter Twenty-Five

No Room for Tears

Cher

Thursday Morning, Mid-December

“We should do Christmas here,” Ethan said to Merry and me while sitting at the breakfast bar in Merry’s awesome new house, shoveling in some of Merry’s pancakes. “We can open presents, then go out and ice skate on the lake or something.”

“Kid, it hasn’t even snowed,” I reminded him. “There’s about a half a centimeter rim of ice that runs the edge of the lake and that’s it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get a deep freeze between now and then.”

“We don’t have ice skates,” I went on.

“That would be why we’d go out after we open presents. And just sayin’, ice skates are a big fat no. Hockey skates, though…” He let that hang.

And there it was. Shared with all the finesse of a hammer.

My kid wanted hockey skates for Christmas.

This did not fill me with joy. Hockey skates might lead to hockey lessons and hockey probably cost a mint. I didn’t have a mint nor would I ever.

But if my kid wanted hockey skates then hockey lessons, I’d find a way.

I just wished he’d turn his attention to Frisbee. A Frisbee champion needed functioning limbs and a plastic disc. Ethan luckily already had functioning limbs and I figured even the most expensive Frisbee you could get cost less than hockey skates.

On this thought, Merry spoke.

“Bud, don’t have any decorations and your place is already all set up, seein’ as we spent twelve hours straight decorating it a week ago and now it looks like Santa vomited all over the joint.”

Ethan busted out laughing.

I turned and glared at Merry.

Merry, not sitting but bent over his plate at the bar opposite Ethan, turned his attention from his plate of pancakes to me.

“What?” he asked, one side of his lips tipped up.

“I like Christmas,” I snapped.

“I can tell,” he replied.

Ethan kept laughing.

“I got a kid,” I stated. “You decorate for Christmas when you have a kid.”

“Mom, I quit believing in Santa Claus when I was six,” Ethan reminded me of the dire day he imparted that information on me, information he’d learned from some snot at school who had an older brother and sister, both of whom had big mouths as did Ethan’s snot friend. “Now I’m nearly twelve. I’m totally over the over-the-top Christmas stuff.”

“Yes, you did stop believing in Santa when you were six,” I confirmed. “You also quit getting presents from him when you quit believing in him. Think about that for a second, smart guy.”

The look on Ethan’s face told me he was thinking about it and I’d made my point.

I didn’t rub it in.

But I did keep at him.

“And you’re not nearly twelve. You’re eleven and two months. That isn’t even close to nearly twelve.”

I was right, of course. It wasn’t.

But it was more that I couldn’t think of my kid as “nearly twelve.” This meant, after that, he’d be nearly thirteen and then nearly fourteen and then nearly out of the house, off to college, then getting married to some bitch who better treat him right or I’d cut her.

So no.

I couldn’t think of Ethan being nearly twelve until he actually was nearly twelve.

“Just sayin’, babe,” Merry started, and I looked down at him. “Dudes and chicks are different. Women spend most of their lives denying their age. Men spend theirs living for retirement.”

This was true.

And it sucked.

“That’s because chicks stop bein’ hot at around thirty-five and men can be hot for, like, ever,” Ethan declared, and I turned my now-far-more-intensified glare to him.

He was impervious and I knew this when he kept talking.

“I mean, look at Colt. He’s, like, borderline old guy, and he still totally has it.”

“And Feb doesn’t?” I asked.

My kid looked to me. “She’s an exception.”

“You do know I turn thirty-five in two months,” I reminded him.

He grinned at me. “You’re an exception too.”

“You totally are,” Merry muttered.

My head whipped Merry’s way. “You could help here, you know.”

Merry looked to my son and said as if by rote, “Ethan, women are attractive at any age.”

Ethan grinned at my man and replied, “Right.”

I decided Merry would get another blowjob around the time Ethan turned twelve.

But I had a lesson to teach, so I’d deal with that later.

“So, prior to your twelfth birthday, I’ll tell Feb, Rocky, Dusty, Frankie, and Vi you think they’re all past it,” I declared. “And before your gramma goes out for the big stuff for you for Christmas, I’ll tell her you think she’s totally past it.”

“They’re all exceptions too. Even Gram. I wouldn’t know, obviously, but Teddy’s grandpa said she’s a looker,” Ethan returned.

“So who isn’t an exception?” I asked.

Ethan looked like he was thinking about it.

Then he broke into a big grin and stated, “Maybe I spoke all hasty.”

“See, baby, you got a smart kid. You give him time, he’ll get to it,” Merry said.

“You both are annoying me,” I announced, though this was really a lie. I thought they were pretty hilarious. Annoyingly hilarious but still hilarious. I reached out to grab Ethan’s empty plate. “And it’s time for work and school, so you can quit annoying me by gettin’ on the road.”

I grabbed my own plate too, turning toward the sink, hearing Merry talking. “Your mom’s right, buddy. Let’s hit it. Teeth. Backpack. Coat. And grab a scarf and gloves. It’s cold out there. Yeah?”

“’Kay, Merry.”

I turned on the tap to run water over butter and maple syrup residue, completely unable to continue even pretending to be annoyed after hearing Merry tell my boy to grab a scarf and gloves.

I watched Merry’s hand put his plate on top of the other ones in the sink as I felt his other hand light on my hip.

“Easy to get a tree, grab some cheap ornaments, and put it up. I’ll even get one of those big blow-up snowmen for the front yard, you and Ethan wanna do Christmas here,” he said in my ear.

“I can’t do Christmas unless Santa has anointed my house with Christmas vomit,” I told the sink. “You up for that?”

I heard his chuckle and felt the heat of him come closer as his hand slid from my hip to my belly.

“We’ll get an air mattress. Ethan can sleep on that in one of the extra rooms. Grace can sleep in Ethan’s room. Everyone comfortable. Do presents here, breakfast, then later, go to Rocky and Tanner’s. Dad’ll be there. Vera and Devin too. Jasper and Tripp as well, Keira attached at Jasper’s hip, like usual. Big family thing when we do Christmas dinner.”

Big family thing.

A big family thing that Merry wanted.

But he wanted that family thing to start here, in his house, with what we were building.

I closed my eyes.

Ethan had a room at Merry’s and it was definitely his room. Not a junk room. Nothing was in the closet but some of my kid’s clothes. Shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush in the crappy bathroom Ethan used that Merry was going to gut after Christmas and redo.

The roof, furnace, AC, and windows had been first, obviously, and Merry hadn’t fucked around with those. He had us there and he had that frequently, he’d told me, so he took care of that right away. Right away, as in, he had work scheduled to start practically the day after he moved in.

I had clothes in Merry’s closet and doubles of all my stuff (except makeup—that required an investment, but I had bits and bobs, so I was getting there) in his crappy master bath.

We were all but moved in.

And now—Merry’s house being so big, the great room a place where we could all be together, Ethan liking showing off its awesomeness to his buds so sleepovers continued to be frequent (they just happened at Merry’s), and Merry pretty much taking over the care of my kid when I was at work nights or evenings—we were mostly here.

We might sleep at my place once or twice a week.

But Merry’s place was becoming home.

This was intentional. He gave both of us sets of keys the day he’d closed on the house. The first night we stayed over, which was the first night he was in the house since we’d helped him move, we found he’d bought an Xbox so Ethan would have all he needed to feel at home. And he told me to pack us both and make it so we weren’t lugging bags back and forth all the time.

“Settle in, baby. You and Ethan,” he’d whispered to me in the dark that first night in his house. “I think we’re all past the idea of sleepovers.”

I was. Definitely.

My kid would go to the ends of the earth for Merry, so I figured he was too.

I just didn’t know Merry was at that place.

But I was glad to know.

And the next day, I settled us in.

Right then, however, I knew just what place Merry actually was in.

And it was even better.

I turned in his arm at the sink, looking up at him.

“You want Christmas,” I whispered my guess.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Didn’t wanna say anything, but since Ethan mentioned it and seems he’s good with it, there it is.”

“Then we’ll have Christmas here. I’ll talk to Mom.”

He smiled down at me and I saw excitement in his face that made my badass Merry into my badass Merry who could be cute.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, bent in and touched his mouth to mine. When he lifted up, he said, “Since you’re off today, I’ll go get a tree and we’ll decorate it tonight. You got time to go out and get some ornaments? Lights? Whatever else we need?”

Did I have time for Christmas decoration shopping during Christmas shopping season, when the population at large should be at its best but was undoubtedly at its worst, doing this for a tree for Garrett Merrick’s awesome new lake house?

I totally had time.

“I have time,” I confirmed.

He looked like he was fighting laughter, which was telling me I wasn’t hiding my enthusiasm for that day’s chores, when he said, “Cheap shit, babe. Just to get us by. I have a feeling next year I’m gonna have more Christmas crap than anyone needs by a long shot.”

My exciting new plans for the day flew straight from my head.

“What?” I asked.

Merry didn’t repeat his feelings about what would happen in the next year, which, my guess, included Ethan’s and my Christmas stuff being at his awesome new lake house.

Instead, he got bossy.

“Go to Bobbie’s. Ask Vi if you can use her discount. Get those plastic tubes of ornaments, the ones that are twelve for a buck. Get a couple. And some lights. But don’t mess around with the lights, babe. You should always invest in good lights. Next year, we’ll find a way to use the extras.”

I blinked, what Merry said earlier going straight from my head.

“Twelve-for-a-buck ornaments? Only a couple tubes?” I asked.

“How many you need?” he asked back.

“I don’t know. Are you buying a proper Christmas tree or a Charlie Brown Christmas tree?”

His head jerked back like that question was an affront.

“First Christmas here with you, Ethan, and Grace, I’m not gonna get a shit-ass tree.”

That was nice.

However…

“So what you’re saying is, the good part, the part I like, you want twelve-for-a-buck ornaments, two tubes of them, but you’re gonna get a nice tree and you want me to go whole hog on the lights because you have a dick and lights have a plug and that’s the way of the world.”

Merry was no longer affronted.

His lips were twitching.

“You want three tubes of ornaments? Knock yourself out.”

Thirty-six ornaments on a full Christmas tree.

Not gonna happen.

“I’ll get what I get,” I declared.

Merry’s face again lost its humor. “Serious, Cher, we’ll have your shit here next year and we don’t need decorations for two trees.”

I was back to thinking about Merry’s plans for the upcoming year.

“We’ll have my shit here next year?”

“Yeah.”

I waited for him to say more.

He didn’t say more.

“Did I miss the invitation to move in with you?” I asked.

His humor yet again returned. “No.”

I waited for him to say more.

Again, he didn’t.

“Are you gonna steal my decorations so you have them next year?” I asked.

His amused face got close.

“No, baby. I’m gonna put in two decent bathrooms. Then I’m gonna buy better furniture because my shit sucks. After that, after we’re all good and used to each other and I got a nice home to offer my woman and her boy, a real home, a comfortable home, I’m gonna invite them to move in with me. When they accept, I’m gonna have to accept all her shit. There’s a lot of it and it includes fifteen boxes of Christmas crap. And don’t deny you got fifteen boxes, sweetheart, because Ethan and I lugged every one of those fuckers out of your garage, and when we did, we counted them.”

He said the last quickly because I’d opened my mouth.

He also didn’t stop talking.

“So, to end, we’ll have your shit here next year, so we don’t need expensive stuff for the tree we have this year.”

“The master is pretty big, gorgeous,” I said quietly. “We could put a tree in there next year with our new decorations.”

His expression got more amused. “Jesus, Cherie, no one needs a tree in their bedroom.”

“But I want one.”

“Then get what you want to decorate this year, and next year, we’ll put a tree in our bedroom.”

I stared into his eyes.

That came right out. No hesitation, it came right out. Right out of Garrett Merrick’s mouth.

I told him I wanted a tree in the bedroom; he told me to get what I want.

A girl who didn’t dream sure as hell was smart enough never to want. She took what she could get and that was that.

And just like that, no hesitation, I wanted something silly.

And Merry gave me what I wanted.

“You want us to move in with you.”

My voice was funny—quiet, husky.

His voice was not quiet or husky. It was deep and kind of incredulous, like he couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Of course I do, brown eyes. I bought this house for you.”

My throat suddenly felt tight.

He…

What?

I kept staring as I forced out, “What?”

“More house than I needed at a price higher than I wanted. But you liked it. You like water. Ethan’s got his space. We got ours. We got together space. We got expansion space. So I bought it.”

I kept staring at him, but something happened while I did.

He watched me a beat, saw that something happen, and said, “Fuck, you’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?”

I slapped his shoulder and snapped, “I’ve cried once with you, Merry. Once.”

“Well, this time I don’t have time to get you through it. I gotta get Ethan to school.”

I gotta get Ethan to school.

He took my kid to school every day. Every day. Unless he was out on an early morning case, which was rare, it was no fail.

Every day.

Mornings were now our thing, the three of us, but the school run was Merry and Ethan’s thing.

I felt wet hit my cheek.

“Shit,” he muttered, watching the tear fall.

“Stop making me happy,” I whispered.

His eyes came back to mine and his were dancing.

But when he replied, he was whispering too.

“Not gonna happen.”

“You need to be annoying on a more regular basis,” I demanded softly.

His body started shaking and his voice was doing it as well when he stated, “That’s not gonna happen either.”

“Okay, then you need to go because I have a lake house Christmas theme to plan and execute and that’s not gonna happen when you’re standing here being awesome.”

He audibly started laughing, and in the middle of it, he kissed me.

His laughter tasted great on my tongue.

The best.

“Okay, guys,” Ethan shouted. “Are you done with the gooey? ’Cause I been waitin’ in the hall, like, forever. I might not wanna get to school, but I’m cruisin’ toward perfect attendance third year running, which includes not being tardy, and, you take much longer, you’re messin’ with that mojo.”

Merry broke the kiss, and when he did, my tears had subsided.

This was because Merry’s kiss, as ever, was a good one.

It was also because my man and I were standing in his kitchen in his lake house, which would soon be my kitchen in our lake house, and we were staring at each other, laughing at my kid.

And I was finding I had a life that was filled with a lot of that.

Laughter.

So now, for a different reason, I had no room for tears.

* * * * *

I stood in Bobbie’s Garden Shoppe in her enormous Christmas section that was renown throughout the Midwest. It was this because it was so huge, she had to dedicate half her shop to it and half her parking lot, seeing as she had massive heavy-duty, heated tents where more of her Christmas crap was displayed.

I was there and had been for forty-five minutes.

But I found what I was looking for.