It’s just a little holiday spirit. It’s not like I sewed ruffles onto his drapes.
But he rises from his seat and brings me in, kissing my forehead. “It’s beautiful, Tiernan. I love it.”
I smile. “Good.” I nod once. “You don’t want me getting bored.”
He laughs, but Noah grabs me, pulling me down onto his lap on the couch. “If you need things to do…”
He tries to tickle me, but I bolt out of his lap.
Jake swats Noah on the head as he heads to the kitchen.
“What?” he blurts out. “That’s not what I meant.”
Yeah, right. He’s trying not to laugh, but his smile is devilish. I can’t help but want to smile, too. I look away, so he can’t see.
When I do, though, Kaleb still sits in the chair, two deep creases between his eyebrows as he stares at the television but doesn’t watch.
A chill runs up my legs, bare in my silk sleep shorts, and I pull down my matching sweater, covering the patch of stomach against the cold.
“Here,” Noah says. I turn, and he rises from the couch, taking my hand. “Come on.”
Jake disappears into the shop, closing the door behind him as Noah and I walk into the dark kitchen. He backs me up to the sink and pulls out a chair, sitting down as he reaches under my sweater.
“Gimme your arm,” he tells me.
I slip my arm out, and he pulls over the first-aid kit we left sitting out on the counter, and begins unwrapping the bandage as I hold the sweater over my bare breast.
I watch him clean my wound, his worried eyes darting to me as I hiss. The swelling has gone down, but any pressure still feels like a hot poker in my skin.
His touch is gentle, and we fall quiet, me chewing nervously on the inside of my lip. He’s only quiet when he has things to say.
“I’m glad you’re standing up for your parents,” he says in a quiet voice. “Even if they might not deserve it.”
I watch him, his unusually sincere tone all the more poignant because it almost never happens.
“I know I’d do the same for my dad,” he explains. “But he would deserve it.”
I’m glad he realizes that.
He tosses the wipe down and laughs bitterly. “I’m such a little shit. He’s been all alone these years. Doing everything alone. Fighting for this family alone.” He shakes his head, more to himself. “We haven’t really ever taken care of each other. Until now.”
I remember Jake’s surprise the other morning at Noah helping out without an argument. They’ve always taken care of each other. Food, shelter, work… I guess he means something else. Like how I’m happy and not thinking about my past. When you’re cared for, you care for others.
Noah’s breathing turns shallow, and he still won’t look at me. “What happens when you leave?” he asks.
But it’s more like he’s thinking out loud. Will they still be invested in each other as a family?
And then it occurs to me… What happens to me when I leave? This has become a home.
They’ve become my home.
He wraps a clean bandage around my arm and stands up, hovering over me.
But he still won’t fucking look at me, and my eyes start to sting. I’m not leaving for months. I don’t want to think about this now.
I turn his chin toward me, and he immediately comes in, dropping his forehead to mine.
“What if I never let you leave?” he murmurs, his breath tickling my lips.