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Can she feel it? What does it mean if I don’t care that she does?
I fight the urge to squeeze her to me like some stage-five clinger. I’ve hugged her before, but tonight it feels different, more significant than any other time.
Queeny’s frozen shoulder blades melt into my chest as if they are ice dissolving into liquid heat. Maybe she likes being in my arms as much as I like her being there. Every stuttered breath she exhales ripples up my torso, feeding the raucous beat of the silly thing in my chest. I nuzzle her hair, biting back a blissful groan as her warm vanilla scent wraps around me. Her hair is really soft. It doesn’t escape my notice that my nerves flare alive when I’m this close to her.
Needing to see her face, I turn her toward me and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear so I can see her better. The sorrow in her gaze, breaks me. Who hurt you so badly, Queeny?
“That’s true. I’m not obligated to come after hours. It’s not contractual to cook meals and visit you at work. It’s not my duty to comfort you either.”
She begins to push me away, but I hold her tight. She smells so damn comforting. Even more than Isabel.
“I need you to know I’d literally die for that baby.”
Her stare widens, and her chin trembles. The sadness coating her orbs lightens to hope and trust.
I kiss her temple, lingering … wanting. Opposite of perfunctory. “Her mother, also.” I meant to say those words in my head, and even though I’m shitting a brick, I can’t take them back. I won’t lie to her.
Peering up at me, Mae’s mouth falls open and her fingers clutch onto my shirt. Her eyes are fathomless pools of sparkling emerald.
“You would?” Her voice is broken and beautiful.
“Never doubt it.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? As always, my emotions eclipse any logic in my head. This could end epically bad. Kiara would rip me away from this family so fast my heart would be whiplashed and broken in a single second.
But what if it doesn’t? It’s clear Mae and Isabel need someone they can rely on. Someone solid they know will never let them down. I’m happy to be that person, fucking elated.
Queeny’s forehead tightens before releasing all tension as a small smile grows across her cheeks. It creeps up a millimeter at a time until it’s a full-on grin.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful.
One by one the bricks fall, crumbling the walls she’s built around herself. She curls into me, and her shoulders tremble. Showing her vulnerable side tells me I’ve earned her trust, and something about that gives me a high. She’s a self-possessed sovereign with an iron fortress around her, and yet she’s letting me in—the poor peasant boy who can offer nothing but himself.
Later on in the guest bedroom, I ruminate on the night. Knowing I did great in some ways and fucked up in others. I like being here more than I should, but I don’t want to dissect why. Kiara warned me not to get attached, and I’ve tried, but I’m pretty sure I soldered them to my being the moment I met them.
Rolling to my side, I punch the pillow under my head. My ears strain to hear any noise coming from the baby monitor on the nightstand, per my request. I think about my date, or at least, I try to. I could, too, if my mind wasn’t stubbornly occupied by the woman down the hall. A woman who’s so much more than conventional beauty, though she’s stunning with curves that could bring a man to his knees. She’s ethereal in her majesty and fortitude. She might not need a knight in shining armor, but she and Isabel need me.
I’m good with that. I’ll never let her down. Neither of them.
Chapter 8
A Juicy Carrot in a Starving Rabbit Race
Mae
A long dark hallway stretches to eternity before me. Heavy doors made of hardwood and steel line the walls on either side. Opening the first door, there is nothing but black, just an ominous feeling in the air. The same creepy-crawly sensation I had that day. But I’ll be damned if I back down. I can face anything, do anything, be anything.
Squaring my shoulders, my eyes narrow, challenging the dark abyss before me.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” I declare to no one. My voice seems to echo a hundred times, each one becoming louder until the sound is unbearable. The piercing howl makes my eardrums scream.
Clutching the sides of my head, I back out of the black and sprint down the hallway, trying to outrun the sound to no avail. The howl turns into my daughter’s wails, and now I’m opening every door to find her.
“No, please. Not my daughter.”
When I can’t find her, I panic and yell her name, but no sound comes out. Over and over, I search and holler, but nothing. My world is closing in, and I’m dropping down a spiral, spinning way too fast. The cries are too loud. I can’t get to her.
And then … I’m caught, and it all just stops. The free fall. The wailing. The panic.
