“I’d like that very much,” I repeat, hoping it can happen. “But Eric, we’re living in hell right now. Don’t we need to deal with that hell?”
“We do. We will. In fact, right now,” he stands and pulls me to my feet, “I’m going to put you in a hot bath and do some thinking while you’re relaxing.”
A few minutes later, we’re in the bathroom where a luxurious bubble bath has been created with floral-scented bubbles we purchased while shopping. “This tub has never been used,” he says, as I settle into the sunken egg-shaped sensation filled with warm water and he sets my newly filled wine glass next to me.
“Join me,” I suggest. “Come try out your own tub.”
“Our tub, baby,” he says, sitting on the edge next to me. “And you just enjoy the bath. My head is clear for the first time in twenty-four hours. I’m going to put that empty space to use.”
“That space that is your head is never empty, but I get it. Go. Do. Be the savant. I hope you find answers.”
“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
He stands and walks toward the door, his naked muscular torso etched with ink, and while I can ask for the story of each tattooed message, I don’t know if I will ever fully know his mind. I want to know his mind. I want to know all of him but I think about how we talked tonight, and I come to one conclusion: he doesn’t need me to know what’s in his mind. He needs me to understand and accept how his mind works, how he copes. He needs me to understand him, not the numbers. I think what he needs more than anything is for me to embrace that part of him so that he, too, can embrace that part of him.
A long time later, I’ve finished off my wine and Eric hasn’t returned. I expect he’s gone downstairs to work, but I suddenly worry that there’s news he might have gotten while I was in the tub. News that I don’t know yet, that might affect him. If his dad were to die, I’m not sure how his mind, how the savant part of him, would cope. I climb out of the tub, and grab a robe from the closet, from one of the bags, and hurry to the door. I just really need to see Eric and I hope, I really hope, all I find is a man who needs to be thoroughly kissed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harper
I don’t have to go far to find Eric. He’s sitting in a corner of the bedroom, on a chair facing the window with a Rubik’s cube in his hand. With an easy view of my exit from the bathroom, his eyes warm on me. “How was the bath, baby?”
There is not one ounce of distress in him and relief washes over me. My bath, and our few hours of escape, haven’t imploded, or exploded, and become more hell. “It was wonderful,” I say, crossing to join him, settling on the chair next to him, my hand covering the cube in his hand. “Any brilliant conclusions you’ve come to?”
“Nothing worthy of my savant status,” he admits. “I’m failing to impress you on that end.”
“Solving an equation and figuring out the many layers of fucked-up that is many a human being are two different things.”
“You mean, that is a Kingston,” he amends. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to talk around their level of fucked-up-ness. I know. I promise not to go off on the deep end on you again. I told you, that had to do with my father dying, and all the weird ways it’s affecting me.”
“I know. You know I know. Heck, my mother is confusing me now. I love her. I thought she was a good person. Now, I’m not sure anymore.” I cut him a look. “But my father was wonderful. I wish you could have known him.”
“I’ll know him through you and movies, and any other way you can show me the man who gave me you. Because he did. He’s the reason you stuck it out with the Kingstons, which led you back to me.”
His cellphone buzzes with a text and he grabs it from the table sitting next to him. He says nothing but he grimaces. I sit up straighter. “What is it?” I ask urgently.
His hand comes down on my knee. “Relax, baby. It’s about the NFL deal. Believe it or not, I’m dealing with something other than the Kingston family. I’m going to have to go into the office tomorrow.” He replies to the message and sets his phone on the arm of the chair. “It’ll be a good time for you to get the lay of the land and pick an office.”
Pick an office, an idea that comes with a hint of trepidation. “You know, I can look for a job. I think maybe I should. I need to know that I earn my place.”
“You will, Harper. I have no doubt and what I care most about, what Grayson will care most about, is you finding your passion.”
“It’s a law firm, Eric. I’m not a lawy
er.”
“We’re opening hotels and we’re about to be part owners in an NFL team. How do you feel about football?”
“Go Pats!”
He laughs. “Ah, you like Brady.”
“Love me some Brady.”
“Want to go see him play?”
My eyes go wide. “Really?”