Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
There’s a garage along the side, which Rian pulls into, the door sliding closed behind us.
“Come on, pretty thing. Let’s get you inside.”
I nod, feeling vulnerable in a way I don’t often allow myself to feel, one that I haven’t been given the comfort to feel for most of my life.
Even though he tries, I don’t let him get my bag, instead grabbing it before I follow Rian inside.
The garage door leads into the kitchen, which is filled with more white brick, immaculately clean, almost like no one has been here in days.
We go through the kitchen, then into the living room, Rian flipping on the lights as we go. The space is huge—looks like it could be a spread in a magazine—pristine and perfect, but with soft, personal touches that lure me closer, like a moth to a flame.
I walk toward the wall of photos of different sizes, in a collage of happy memories that seem to have stopped when Moira died.
She was beautiful—long, dark hair with wide, bright blue eyes and a smile that I feel the energy from through the photos. There are some with her and Rian, with her and who must be Cillian, of a red-haired boy that I assume is Rory, a young girl and boy that—“This is your niece and nephew?” I ask.
“Yes. Tiernan and Aislin.” Rian is standing at least five feet behind me, though I think it’s because he can’t let himself get too close to this happiness that he used to have.
Because more than anything, there are photos with the three of them—Rian, Cillian, and Moira—laughing, touching, living, loving. It’s obvious how much they loved each other. Still, I can’t help but notice that there’s not one photo of them after she died. It’s like Cillian and Rian stopped living when she did.
“There is nothing like this in my family home,” I say.
“What?” Rian steps closer.
“This…the life you had, the memories, there is nothing like this in my family home. I’m not saying you don’t have anything to atone for, or that you were the perfect father…but you love your son. You loved your family. That’s why I’m here with you right now.”
He continues moving closer, slow and unsure, like he’s kept these photos up but hasn’t allowed himself to really look at them in so long.
“No one who loves this much can be all bad, Rian. I see that. I see you.”
“Christ, Abbott. I know I don’t deserve you, but damned if I’m not selfish enough not to care.”
“You’re not selfish,” I say, when he wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “She was beautiful,” I admit.
“Yes,” he says softly. “You’re beautiful too, my pretty thing. I didn’t know a man could be beautiful before you. You’re in my head all the time, but not just there…like, I feel you inside. Everywhere, all the time.”
“Me too,” I reply. “Everywhere, all the time.”
Rian takes my hand, leading me toward the stairs. I go easily, knowing the sun will be up soon, but ready to climb into bed with him.
His room is huge—a large bed in the middle with a warm, neutral beige headboard with hints of light gray that match the sheets, with a large fireplace across from it. He doesn’t have any of the same personal photos in his room that were downstairs—a lamp on each nightstand, which match the gray-toned wood on his bed.
“I’ve never brought someone here before,” Rian admits.
“I know.” He didn’t have to tell me for me to know either. Whatever this connection is between us, it runs deep, a bond we both share.
“I need to shower,” Rian says, voice rough.
“Not without me.” I turn to look at him, watching a smile spread across his face.
There is nothing in the world like making Rian smile. It lights up his face that is often so serious and so sad. Any trace of the sadness is gone right now though, as he nods his head toward the en suite and I follow him in.
Rian’s bathroom is massive, with a standalone shower with two rainfall heads hanging above it.
He turns on the water, and we both strip out of our clothes. I follow Rian in, rubbing my hands up and down the soft fur on his chest. I want to sleep with my face buried into it, my cheek against the dark hairs so I can feel them brush against my skin all…well, day, considering what time it is.
“I won’t come to you right after I do something like this again,” he says as water pours down over his back. “I wouldn’t have tonight but…I couldn’t stand the thought of someone hurting you.”
“I can take care of myself. You don’t have to save me.”
“Believe me, I know. But most of the time, I feel like that’s all I have…the way I take care of people.”