Dealla
Istandinthedoorway and watch Holden deftly dry and clothe Ashton. His movements are easy, practiced, and I wonder how I ever missed Holden’s efforts to become the man Ashton and I need him to be. My fingers play with the pendant at the base of my throat as I fall that much more in love with Holden.
Forgiving him… It’s easier to do than being away from him. A small part of me says I should have tried harder to get over him, but my heart tells me this is the right thing to do. I’ve learned I can’t live without him, not really. And it isn’t solely his fault that our relationship fractured so much.
I meant what I said, though: I can’t feel unimportant and neglected again. I will leave and not look back. Not even if Holden were to crawl through fire and broken glass for them. I can’t do this another time, I can’t put Ashton through the pain again. I vow to put forth the efforts to keep our love alive.
With one last look at Holden, who carries Ashton against his chest, I turn and grab a bundle of fresh bedsheets from the closet. My boyfriend keeps the toddler in his arms while I strip the bed of the sheets and mattress protector, replacing them quickly. I carefully carry the soiled linens to the washing machine and drop them into the basin. Soft singing comes from the bedroom as I pour detergent in, set the cycle, and press the start button. The melodic beeps sound deafening in the quiet, and I hurry to pull the accordion doors shut.
Holden sways in place, rocks Ashton from side to side. His voice is pitched low, oh so sweet, as he sings to the toddler. “’Cause love like yours don’t come around, not in this quiet little town. You got a way of turnin’ gray skies blue.” His gaze meets mine, his lips quirk, and he continues, “I don’t need those city lights or chasin’ dreams that fade at night. Long as I’m holdin’ on to you, I’m right where I belong. Yeah, I’m right where I belong.”
Ashton snuffles then, but he doesn’t wake even when Holden lowers him to his bed. I brush my fingers along Holden’s shoulders as I make my way to the door, leaving him to finish saying his goodnights. Busying myself with clearing away the dishes I’d left on the bar does nothing to give me distraction. All I can focus on is everything I’ve felt and thought in the last week—longer, really. But I know those fears can be laid to rest. It will take more hard work than I’ve ever known, and it will take time for us to find our footing again. Loving Holden, being loved by him, is worth it all.
We brush our teeth together, no words necessary, then Holden leads me to my bedroom. We tiptoe to the bed, and he waits until I slide in between the sheets before he does the same. He doesn’t need to reach for me: I’m already moving into his space, resting my head on his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Holden murmurs, and his chest vibrates under my ear with the words.
I press my fingertips more solidly against his skin. He doesn’t move when I turn my head to kiss his sternum. When I peer up at him through the dim light from the nightlight, it’s to find he’s staring at the ceiling. I frown and sit up.
“Holden—”
“You deserve better than I treated you.”
I stifle a sigh. “I know you’re sorry, honey, and I am, too. I could have just as easily told you what was wrong instead of running away like I did. Luci and Tristan made that point very clear.”
“Will you come back?” he whispers; his body tenses with the question, and I rest my palm on his chest. “It—it doesn’t feel like home without you two.”
“Absolutely. It’s right where I belong.”
Holden abruptly goes lax. He blows out a breath and settles further into the bed. I smile a small smile painted with love. The tenderness, the honesty, of this moment brings forth an aching beneath my breast. I curl into Holden’s side and let out a slow breath. Pale moonlight filters through the window, striping across the floor in milky-white slats. Holden plays with the ends of my hair, and I let the steady beat of his heart and his warmth, his presence, lull me to sleep.
When I wake, it’s to the sound of a toddler whispering to himself and a warm arm draped heavily over my waist. I smile to myself and let the weight reassure me that last night wasn’t a dream, Holden really showed up on my doorstep and we talked. We promised to make this work. I carefully roll over, though Holden’s arm remains where it is.
Hazy eyes meet my gaze, and he gives me a sleepy smile. His fingers trail along the curve of my cheek as he whispers, “Morning.”
“Hi.”
“An’ Dee?”
Giggling, I lift my head and grin at Ashton where he sits on his bed. His hair sticks up in dozens of directions as he beams back. I gesture toward the space between my body and Holden’s, and Ashton doesn’t hesitate: He rushes across the room and clambers up onto the bed. I glance at Holden and immediately dissolve into laughter. I’ve missed this—the peaceful mornings waking with each other, the interruption of a child making a place for himself, the comfort in knowing Ashton and I are loved completely.
“An’ Dee?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Coffee?”
I stretch to grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time. “Sorry, little dude, it isn’t open for another hour.”
“Coffee, ’Den?”
Holden coughs to hide his chuckles. “Aunt Dealla said it’s closed right now. We’ll go later, though.”
“I coffee.”
“In a bit.” Holden rises up on one elbow when Ashton opens his mouth. “We will get coffee later. I promise. For now, why don’t we take a quick nap? There’s no way you got enough sleep.”
“No nap. You go bye-bye.”
