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His answering smile is hollow. “That’s now. At first? Fuck, everything was a mess. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so he had to go into the foster care system. When I turned eighteen, I tried to get him back.
“He was so—I know you didn’t meet him until later, but at the time, he was only nine. And he was scared. I wanted to raise him myself, but I had no job. No degree. Shit grades because I spent all of my time fucking around, not knowing our parents wouldn’t be around.”
He shakes his head. “It took me way longer to get myself together than it should have. By then, he was practically a grown man.”
I touch his cheek, feeling the prickle of his five o’clock shadow. “Why did it take you so long?”
“I was just”—He makes a half-groan sound—“Fuck, I don’t know. I wanted us to have money and a nice place to live. So I just kept working more and more, trying to achieve enough to feel ready. But it never happened.”
I remember the charming sign on the front porch and how ironic it seemed. “You made perfect the enemy of the good.”
His expression flickers, pain creasing his brow. “I do that.”
Just like he did with their house. And my suite.
Because he cares. So much. Too much. Like I do. And it paralyzes him, the same way it sends me into a tizzy.
“Me, too,” I tell him, leaning closer. “Maybe… we could help each other stop?” I almost laugh. “Or maybe Cass could help us. He’s good that way.”
“Damon is too,” Smith grumbles. “Except when it comes to his hair products.”
Indignance surges through me. I slap the water, sending a splash at his chest. “Hey! That’s my alpha! And he’s actually a lot wiser about a lot of things than either of you give him credit for. He was the first one to actually try to get to know me and do the things I enjoy. And he’s smart, Smith. Think about all the scrapes he’s gotten himself out of. Think about where he started and where he is, now. He did that. All on his own.”
Instead of blinking at me, Smith listens, brow furrowed in concentration. When I finish, he nods. “I agree, actually. I keep asking him if he wants to help me out with Pierson, but every time I mention it, he acts like I’ve asked him to feed his balls to a den of lions.”
I didn’t know about Pierson. That mollifies me, somewhat. Though, I wonder if it has something to do with the way he struggles to read basic household things like our calendar or the notes I leave for them.
“Sometimes,” Smith mutters, reaching over to take the last bite of his steak. “I wonder if Damon is on to something, avoiding the business like he does.”
I always assumed Smith loved what he did. Otherwise, what was the point of him being there so much? He has clearly made more money than we will ever need.
“If you don’t like it, why do you do it?”
Smith spreads his arms out, snatching a glass of champagne for me in one hand and picking up his own in the other. After a couple of swallows, he sighs.
“I used to like it. Lately, though… I don’t know. I’m always taking things apart. Leveling people’s memories into dust and paving over them. And, yes, we build things… but do we really make anything good? I’m just not sure anymore.”
I think about Proper Coffee. How it technically looks and does better now. But it lost all of its character and softness along the way.
“Have you ever thought about doing something else?” I wonder out loud.
He cocks his head to the side, regarding the dark horizon pensively. “I don’t think I’ve let myself think about that in a long time. Maybe I should.”
I’m about to agree, shifting to pick up the bottle of sparkling wine and refill his glass—but my body has other ideas.
As soon as I rise up onto my knees, one of the hot tub’s jets strokes across my bare stomach, the pulse of the heated water making me gasp. Smith’s lips quirk up; his eyes darkening for completely different reasons than they were a moment before.
“Stretch up a bit more.”
He doesn’t ask, but it isn’t a command either. More a sensual suggestion. The knowing gleam in eyes makes me want to listen to him. This is clearly a man who knows what he’s talking about. Much more than I do.
I bring my knees closer and lengthen my lower back. The pounding sensation goes from hitting just below my navel to vibrating at the apex of my thighs.
I gasp again, rearing back. Smith’s hand is there, though, keeping me from falling into the water. His body presses into my side while his warm palm strokes a soothing line over my spine. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder. “Give yourself a moment to adjust.”
A small beat of alpha power accompanies his words. Not enough to be forceful; just enough to make me feel like he’s in control. It’s reassuring—I don’t want to be the one making these decisions. I love that he likes to take over and let me relax.
My muscles unwind as he steps up behind me. His hands find my hips, stroking soothing circles as he tilts them the way he wants them.
