As we back out of the driveway, I glance back to see all the guys and the kids standing on the porch, waving us off. Will’s there with Mia on his hip. He lifts his hand and waves, and I don’t know why, but this moment feels like it’s important. Hell, every moment with Will has felt important and meaningful.
I wait for panic to hit me, that I’ve left my daughter with six men to care for her, but it never comes. Instead, all I feel is a certainty of trust that she will be safe and well cared for. I know with everything inside me that Will has her covered, as do the others, and that eases my guilt. While it also terrifies me, because while I know that they all love her and offered to take care of her, I know it’s Will she’ll cling to.
We’re both growing more and more attached to him every day.
Seventeen
Will
* * *
The house is quiet. Too quiet. My bags are unpacked, and my suitcase is stored away as if the trip never happened. I took the world’s longest shower to wash off the day of travel. I let the hot water beat against my shoulders, trying to rinse off the feel of her in my arms, but there’s no use in pretending that I’m not counting down the seconds until I see her again.
Now, here I sit in the corner chair of my bedroom, alone, in the dark. I’m exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones after a long drive and too little sleep. My body should be begging for my bed. Instead, I’m staring at it like it’s something unfamiliar.
It’s too big.
Too empty.
In just six short nights, I got used to the sound of her breathing at night. The feel of her in my arms, her warmth pressed against me as if she belonged there.
She does. She belongs in my arms, but it’s complicated. And although my need for her should be forbidden, to me, it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever felt, outside of my love for my daughter.
The silence is too loud.
My mind drifts back to the nights we shared.
Nothing happened. Not really. She let me hold her, and I stole a few kisses, but it was enough for me to know that this isn’t just attraction. I care for Amanda and her daughter. They’ve found their way into my heart when I thought there was no more room. They proved me wrong.
I knew that I would miss her, miss both of them, but I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to loathe going to bed without her in my arms. She should be here. They should be here, in my home, in my life, by my side. It’s what I want. I’m far too gone to pretend otherwise.
I knew I was getting in too deep.
And I didn’t stop it.
I didn’t want to.
What scares me is that this feels like something that could ruin me if I’m not careful. It could ruin my relationship with my daughter, the one that I’ve worked my ass off to have. I know that’s all at stake, and still, I want her. It’s a need fused to my bones, and I can’t let go. I need to convince Amanda that she’s meant to be mine, and then we can talk to Bellamy together. Once she sees how happy we are, she’ll accept this. She’ll understand.
At least, I hope she does.
The thought of losing my daughter and her family again tears me up inside. However, the thought of walking away from Amanda and Mia… It’s that thought that brings on the same torturous pain as losing Bellamy and her family. I’m torn between the love I have for my daughter and the love I have for her best friend, because that’s what this is. The intensity of what I feel for them couldn’t be anything less.
I’m in love with her.
With both of them.
Why else would staring at my empty bed feel wrong? It feels wrong without her. The house needs Mia’s giggles and Amanda’s warm smiles. It needs them. I need them.
Moving to the bed, I slide beneath the covers and stare up at the ceiling. The silence is too loud, a reminder of what’s missing. There’s no soft shift of sheets. No quiet exhale beside me. Just the hum of the air vent and my own stupid heartbeat thudding too loud in my ears.
I turn onto my side out of habit. The side I slept on all last week. The side that faced her. My hand moves before I can stop it, sliding across cool, empty sheets. I almost laugh at myself. Almost. I know she’s not there, just the ghost of the memory of what it felt like to fall asleep with her in my arms.
This is what I get for letting myself imagine something with her that I can’t have. I let myself get comfortable in a space that was never mine to begin with. Sneaking around, pretending it was harmless because nothing physical happened. As if that makes it better.
It doesn’t.
Because the truth is, the most intimate thing wasn’t touching her. It was wanting to. It was being inches away from her and controlling my urge to make her mine in every way. It was pretending that one night with her in my arms didn’t ruin me for anyone else.