Suddenly, I don’t feel so good.
I lay back down and empty my lungs while staring at the ceiling.
He’s quiet.
“I don’t like doin’ this to you. Stressing you out. Can you just start trusting me to let you know what I think you need to know?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not gonna be some timid bunny rabbit who walks around oblivious. If there’s danger, tell me. If there’s a plot, I need to know so I can watch my surroundings. I don’t want to live in the dark. I don’t want to be blindsided. I’m not weak or broken anymore, Killian. I’ll learn to handle this shit.”
He flexes his jaw muscles.
“I’m serious. I’ll deal. If this is what life looks like for us, I’ll deal. I’ll adapt. And besides, you need someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off. That can be me.”
“But baby…”
I lean over and put my lips to his, holding his jaw and then touching his bottom lip with my tongue.
He groans out a sexy noise. “Violet, listen…”
“No. Shh.”
I lift my top up over my head and toss it.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Distracting you with my bra.”
“Baby, I don’t wanna cause-”
“Shh.” I kiss him. “This seems like a great way to shut you up. Is it working?”
He sighs.
I smile.
He pokes my cheek, sticking his index finger against a dimple.
“Pullin’ out the dimples? Unfair, Mrs. Coulter.”
“So, it’s working?” I ask.
“It is. But not enough. A better option might be to bend over and let me slip my tongue inside you. Lose the sexy reindeer pajamas, Dimples.”
***
My head being all full of all that stuff, I’m thinking no way will I climax. But I do. And so does he, all over my lower back, uttering dirty words about how he can’t wait to fuck me properly, how if we get the green light from my doctor, he’ll have to make up for the past two weeks.
I fall asleep with trouble brewing in my brain. I dream of a giant Jenga game where all the things that could go wrong are piled on me one by one with big tree sized Jenga blocks that are labeled with all the problems. On top of the blocks sits a baby whose face I can’t see. The baby has a judge’s gavel in one hand like a baby rattle, a toy gun in the other.
***
I wake up thinking about the day I’ve got ahead and then thoughts stray to the fact that Ray’s mom is already at that prison where Ray’s about to be sent. I wonder if he’ll find out about that. And then I think about Killian’s ex getting kidnapped by Ray and how Killian is going into business with her to make sure she keeps his secrets.
My chest feels tight. My throat feels clogged. I have to summon my strength. Focus on the things I can focus on. Today, dealing with getting fired. Tomorrow, a doctor’s appointment. And then… Christmas. And hopefully nothing crazy after that.
I hope.
For a split second, I’m almost considering the benefits of blissful ignorance. But then I think about the fact that I have a baby to protect and knowledge is power, and can be used to gain strength. I do believe Killian’s goal is to protect me, but I’m feeling protective, too. Over the baby. Over him as well. I can only hope his carefully constructed house of cards doesn’t tumble down around him. Around both of us.
I roll over and he’s lying there awake, stress on his face, too.
“Good morning,” I say.
Reaching for me, the stress on his face clears.
42
Killian
I didn’t sleep. My mind ran over the plans, all the plans in place. Contingencies and then I tried to forge contingencies for the contingencies. I thought on Violet’s reaction to knowing what’s happening. She slept, but she was restless all night and I was in tune with that, worrying it’s too much for her. I’m proud of her for trying to take it all in, but I also feel guilty that she feels she has to do it.
Waking up to those pretty eyes on me with concern, it was soothing. She’s not looking at me with betrayal now and I want this shit done and over with so that she has nothing at all to worry about. I want her to see I’ve got control of all of it, that I’m capable of protecting her, keeping our family safe.
She wakes hungry so I cook pancakes for us. And despite how she goes on about them being the best pancakes ever, I can’t stomach any. Instead, I think on the fact that every time my mother was trying to settle us down, make us feel happy even though everything around us was bullshit, she made pancakes. Shitty ones, but it was an effort and here I am making pancakes from scratch for Violet after making her worry because yeah, we’re surrounded by bullshit.