Page 90 of The Only Heart that Matters
After four more passes, he stops in front of me. “I got him. You can go back to sleep.”
Shaking my head in reply, I stay rooted to my spot in the doorway.
We do what we do far too often. We stare at each other. Neither of us hiding from the other. Not saying the things we’re both too scared to admit. There’s no need to share feelings that will leave me in even more pain than I’m in already. Playing house. Nights of passion. It’s confusing and unrealistic to think there could be anything more.
Gus’s lack of movement has Sawyer squirming and whining in his arms, interrupting our silent conversation.
“Here, let me take him,” I offer.
“I don’t mind,” he whispers.
“He may need to be changed.”
He relents at this, gently passing him to me. Once he’s in my arms, Angus places a kiss on the top of his head, and I want to cry. He really loves my kid, and doesn’t that just make all of this that much worse?
I expect him to leave, but he stays. Watching us in the gentle glow of the nightlight on the other side of the room.
That is what the two of us have been doing most of our lives. Watching. Only I’m used to admiring him from afar. Now thatwe're living under the same roof, the distance usually between us has evaporated.
I know what he tastes like.
What his skin feels like under my fingertips while I trace his tattoos.
I’ve heard him moan my name in the throes of passion.
Everything between us is different now.
He’s no longer a fantasy. Well, he is. I fantasize about him every night as I fall asleep in his bed. He may not be lying beside me, but he always finds me in my dreams. Always.
As if I’m not emotional enough, the man who has forever held my heart in his hands breaks the silence.
“You are so beautiful.”
His words ignite the panic I’ve been trying to keep at bay since I came home from work yesterday to find him cooking in the kitchen. When I went to bed last night, I couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered our conversation in his loft. When I told him, a man cooking for me was better than flowers. He called it my love language. I was sure I was reading more into it, because each time my heart flutters with hope and desire, panic reaches through my ribs and clenches my heart in its fist, reminding me I’m not allowed to want more with Angus McKinnon.
Besides, he wouldn’t be looking at me the way he is right now if he knew my secret.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Angus
Moonlight sneaks through a space in the curtains dimly illuminating the room, projecting an ethereal glow over Mia’s perfect fucking face.
She and Sawyer deserve love, and I want to be the one to give it to them.
Leaning against the doorjamb, in the middle of the night, while she changes her sleepy little boy's diaper, isn’t exactly the most romantic time or place to tell her everything I’ve had running through my mind. But, God, do I want to.
I want to tell her that the more time I spend with them, the more Ineedthem.
That everything I want in my life is right here in this room. Their laughter gives me life and, if given the chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make them happy every single day. Hell, the two of them make me want to be a better man. After talking to her about the podcast offer, I’ve thought more aboutwhat to do with my CMH. I want to tell her about my ideas, but that can wait. We have other important matters to discuss first.
I want to share my moment of clarity, but there’s no denying the look of despair on her face. It’s another punch to the gut, but I get it. I’ve felt the same anguish for years, but never more so than the last few months. I’ll give her the time she needs to meet me where I am, but I need to let her know I no longer think of us as an impossibility.
With Sawyer changed and dressed, Mia stands in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth while his eyes close with two slow blinks. She looks tired, almost pleading with me to stop making this connection between us so real.
Impossible.
She lays him down, tucking his stuffed animal under his arm, and pulling his blanket over him. Hesitantly, she turns around, facing me, but doesn’t make a move closer. Almost as though Sawyer had been some sort of shield she was hiding behind.
