Craving Cecilia (The Aces' Sons 6)
“I’m not.”
“Cecilia,” I said, grabbing her chin as she tried to turn away. “It was my decision. Mine. I coulda stayed with Poet and Amy and they woulda smoothed shit over with my mom, and I knew that. I chose to camp out on the back of the property because I didn’t want my mom to know where I was. I was an asshole kid, and I was trying to punish her.”
“I helped you do it.”
“Sometimes back then, sweetheart, seeing you was the only thing I had to look forward to,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against hers. “If you woulda taken that away? No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a single fuckin’ thing.”
“Maybe we’re just toxic together,” she said softly, her voice wobbling. “Maybe the universe just keeps telling us to stay away from each other. Look at everything that’s happened up to this point.”
“No,” I argued. “Look at all the shit we’ve survived to this point.”
“I’m terrified,” she whispered tearfully.
“Jesus, me, too,” I replied honestly. “I don’t know what the hell I’d do if somethin’ happened to you or Olive. I’m gonna make sure nothin’ does.”
“I—I know you are” her voice caught, and she stopped to clear it. “Before, I knew that you were out in the world somewhere, even if you weren’t with me. I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t in it… especially if I’m the reason. I don’t think I could survive that.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I replied. “I’m good at what I do, baby. You just gotta trust that.”
“I’ll try,” she replied.
“I hate it when you say that,” I said, making her laugh a little. “We’re gonna figure this out and then we’re gonna figure us out, alright? One thing at a time.”
“First thing is breakfast,” she said with a sigh, as the noise outside our room got louder. “Sounds like everyone is here.”
“You ready?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Just need to do my makeup.”
I grinned.
Chapter 21
Cecilia
Ignoring the way Mark watched me from the bed, I carefully ran liquid eyeliner across my lash line. Foundation, powder, blush, highlighter, bronzer, brow powder, eyeshadow and liner, mascara and finally, lipstick. I could’ve followed the steps in my sleep, but repeating them as I stared into the small compact mirror centered me.
“You don’t need all that, you know,” he said, reaching out to run his finger down my spine.
“It makes me look like myself,” I said simply as I put the eyeliner away.
A knock interrupted him as he opened his mouth to speak. “Yeah?” he called out quietly.
“Food’s on,” Forrest said as he opened the door. His eyes widened when turned. “Damn, woman,” he said, whistling appreciatively.
“Put your tongue back inside your mouth,” Mark told him dryly.
Forrest grinned and laughed uncomfortably. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he apologized. “You’re always beautiful. Just surprised me is all.”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” I said, turning back to my mirror. “And thank you—there’s only so much I can do when the only clothes I have are sweats.”
“Don’t think the clothes much matter,” he replied.
“Yeah, we get it,” Mark said, chuckling as he sat up in bed.
“Glad I showered,” Forrest said. I glanced at him in the mirror as he gestured toward me. “Didn’t know we were gussying up for brunch.”
Mark lifted his arm and sniffed his pit. “Eh, I’ll do.”
“That’s disgusting,” I said, trying to keep a straight face as I applied mascara.
“What?” Mark asked innocently. He sniffed his armpit again. “I smell fine. Here—”
“I’m not going to smell your pits,” I replied, scrambling across the floor as he leaned toward me. I laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
“There’s a lot of people out there,” Forrest said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Kids all over the place.”
The words should have ramped up my anxiety, but they didn’t, and I smiled to myself as I tossed the mascara back in my bag. Mark’s little armpit sniff had done its job distracting me. A quick swipe of red lipstick and I was done.
“I’m going to get Olive dressed and then we’re ready,” I told Forrest.
She was lying quietly on the bed, her eyes unfocused and her binky bouncing a little every time she sucked on it.
“Hey, you,” I said softly. Kneeling next to Mark, I pulled her slowly toward me. “You ready to party?”
“She’s in a good mood,” Mark said.
“Thank God,” I said as I started stripping her down. “All I need is a crying baby to top off the coming-home-with-a-killer-chasing-me shit sundae.”
Forrest choked out a laugh. “They seem like they’re glad you’re here,” he said, the words coming out questioningly.
“The oldies are,” I replied as I worked. “They like all the chicks in the nest, especially if shit’s going down. It’s not them I’m talking about.”
“Family politics?” Forrest asked.
“Something like that.”
“Neither of us were crowd favorites when we left,” Mark said in amusement.