“Your mom’s been calling you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I never feel good about myself after conversations with her, so I haven’t answered. I can guess what it’s about without having to hear her say it. I probably shouldn’t be so avoidant, but she stresses me the hell out.”
I hadn’t realized that with the subject change, I’d tensed up a bit. Warren notices though, and he lifts a hand to knead the spot between my neck and shoulder. My head rolls to the side and I moan when he massages a particularly tight spot.
“It’s not bad to avoid something that doesn’t make you happy. That’s healthy,” he says while circling his thumb to a different spot.
It’s not easy focusing on a conversation when I’m literally laying on top of him and he’s giving me the best massage of my life. But it’s distracting enough for me to speak honestly.
“So . . . what am I supposed to do? Just never speak to my parents again? Ignore my brother for the rest of our lives?” I laugh.
“Maybe,” he huffs. “Family is everything at the end of the day, I’ve always believed that. But family is more than just who you’re blood-related to, it’s who loves you how you deserve. From what you’ve told me, I don’t like how they treat you. You can set some boundaries with them and if they can’t respect youand are still making you feel terrible about yourself, then we need to figure something else out.”
He said we.
He saidweand my fucking eyes are stinging.
“You don’t make me feel terrible about myself,” I whisper as I snuggle deeper into his hold. “I’ve been fighting you every step of the way, and you just keep showing up. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”
“Wherever you want me, wherever you need me, I’m going to be there. You’re worth showing up for. If you can’t understand that about yourself, then I’m going to believe it for you.”
My heart rate slows to a steady thud, soothed by his words and his big warm hands that are still massaging me.
Without replying, I sit up and turn toward him. The comforter catches underneath him when I attempt to pull it down, but he quickly understands what I’m trying to do. He shifts his body so that he’s under the covers, and I slip into bed next to him.
I wrap my arms around his neck while his hand smooths over my lower back, tugging me toward him. One of his legs hooks over mine and I laugh because as much as he’s trying, I don’t think we can get any closer.
My chin tilts up and I look at him for at least a minute. I study his strong features, tan skin, kind eyes . . . and I kiss him. It’s tender and deep in a way that makes me wonder what the hell I’m doing spending any time worrying about things that don’t serve me when I could be feeling this every day instead.
When he finally pulls away, I tuck my head down into his broad chest.
“You’re getting a little too good at your role of a fake boyfriend,” I mumble, drawing attention to the elephant in the room that we have yet to fully address.
“Hmm,” he hums and pretends to look perplexed. “Fake boyfriend? Forgot all about that.”
25
SAVANNAH
This morning I was woken up by deafening music from the living room.
How I was able to take a nap yesterday and sleep well last night, yet still feel aches in my body and fatigue weighing me down today is frustrating. But I suck it up and after dragging my feet to the shower and changing clothes, I walk out into the bunkhouse hallway to find out why on earth there’s an 8 a.m. rager happening.
I was hoping to see Warren. I even pick up speed so that I can run into his arms and kiss him good morning.
But as I round the corner to the kitchen, I find the true culprit. Tripp is standing in front of the open refrigerator door wearing an apron with no shirt underneath. He’s singing something about fishing in the dark at an astronomical volume better suited for pregaming after dark instead of while making breakfast. When he spots me, he shuts the fridge door and grins.
“Scrambled?” He yells over the music while holding up a carton of eggs.
I nod and shrug, laughing at how exuberant he is even early in the day.
Blythe comes striding in a second later, wearing the largest sunglasses I’ve ever seen and carrying way too many grocery bags. She and Tripp sing along to the words of the song like they’ve done this a million times before. It may be early in the day but it seems second nature to them, so I guess this is the norm around here.
I wait for that old but familiar out-of-place feeling to hit me. It doesn’t come.
“Oh good, you’re up. Put these in that cooler,” Blythe says to me as she lays a few bags of ice down at my feet and then sets the rest of what she brought on the counter.
Heston walks by and kicks the lid of the cooler open with the heel of his boot before grabbing one of the bags and dumping the ice in. I pick up the other one, dump it into the cooler, and then he takes the empty bag from me and throws it away without saying a word.