So I didn’t notice I was fucking crying until it was way too late to stop.
16
LOCKE
Nash was a fuckin’ wreck. Like Folk, he had been for a while, but I didn’t hold Folk like this—didn’t love him like this, so it hadn’t hurt me as much as it did to see Nash cry.
Still inside him, I shifted onto my side, taking him with me and holding him to my chest, tucking a blanket around him in a place that had definitely become a fuck den for the Whitlock siblings as they’d come of age.
The thought almost made me smile, but with Nash still shaking in my arms, the feeling was fleeting, and I held him tighter, riding out the storm and sparing us both the bullshit of telling him everything was going to be okay.
I didn’t know that. None of us did.
All I knew was everything was okaynow, in this moment, as we lay naked together in a cabin in the fuckin’ woods.
Nash calmed down, kissing my chest before he left the bed to clean up.
He came back limping and sheepish. “Sorry.”
I waited until he was settled, then wrapped him in my arms again and coaxed his gaze to mine. “You’re okay.”
He sniffed, still shivering. “Rubes told me epic sex could make you cry. I didn’t believe him.”
“Fucking can be cathartic. Not sure it fixes anything, but it’s not the worst reset in the world if it’s with someone you love.”
Nash shifted, wincing. “You’re so fucking wise.”
I ignored that. “Your leg hurt?”
“It’s just a bit tight.”
A lie, but I didn’t call him on it. Just hassled him into a position he might eventually sleep in and set to work massaging his damaged leg, loosening the muscles the way me and Rubi had learned from the unfortunate physiotherapist who now had most of us on his books.
I hit a tender spot.
Nash set his jaw, in more pain than he was ever going to admit.
I got up and found my jacket. Popped a couple of pills into my palm and persuaded him to swallow them. Just ibuprofen, nothing heavy, but Nash so rarely bothered with meds that they did their fuckin’ job when he did.
He fell asleep, finally. I did too, for a while, at least, but a dull ache in my lower back woke me up long before him.
It was afternoon, the cold, crisp day already fading. I reached for my phone on autopilot, careful not to jostle Nash as he slept with his face smushed against my ribcage.
The screen was alive with messages.
Willow.
Nicky.
Logan.
Kara.
Orla.
I loved my kids more than life itself, and my fuckin’ twin was the reason I’d kept swimming long enough to be in this bed with Nash. But I clicked on my woman’s name first, relief washing over me at the smiley—and hot as fuck—selfie she’d sent us an hour ago. The dirty enquiry she’d followed it up with.
Smirking, I typed out a reply. She didn’t always ask for details of what went down between me and Nash when we were alone, but if she did, sharing was the easiest thing in the world. So was grinning at the flame emojis I got in return. Sex was complicated for Orla right now. As her body had adapted to growing two tiny humans, she’d had to settle for Nash’s magic mouth most of the time, but she took it like a trooper, forever grateful for the blessing that kept her a spectator, and fuck me, I loved her.