And when Noelle finally breaks our connection, with an excited squeal that Princess Elsa is finally on-screen, I rest my arm on the back of the truck, over the girls head. My fingers twist in Hannah’s midnight curls and stay there for the duration of the movie.
The girls are asleep in their car seats before we even leave the parking lot of the drive-in, and our ride through Packton is quiet and serene. Hannah and I hold hands across the center console, and I keep thinking that this night couldn’t get more perfect.
When we arrive back at her condo, I help her carry them upstairs and tuck them into bed. I feel like a real part of this puzzle, almost as if I could be the one caring for them all the time. It both terrifies and excites me, just how right this role feels if I were to slide into it.
Dahlia doesn’t seem to be home, and I’m about to walk to the door, expecting Hannah to kiss me farewell. Instead, she surprises us both.
“Do you want to … stay?” She flutters her long, thick eyelashes down toward the floorboards, as if she’s nervous about asking.
I haven’t been asked to stay in her bed in the months we’ve been together, and I’m kind of shocked that tonight is the exception.
Taking two fingers, I tip her chin up so that she looks me in the eye. “I want nothing more. But are you okay with that? Don’t make reactionary decisions that might hurt you or the girls in the long run. I’m okay with where we’re at.”
Hannah searches my expression for something and seems to find it, because she speaks.
“Walker, the way you treat us all … I couldn’t ask for a better man in my life or theirs. I want you to be a part of our world, a real part. That means getting the girls used to having you around. I’m done running scared, I’m done bending to the will of someone who has controlled me for so long. I want you to stay, so you’re staying.”
Without missing a beat, I capture her lips for a few moments. “Of course I’m staying.”
I was wrong. This night could get more perfect. It just did.
25
Hannah
My eyes try to blink the sleep out of themselves, but the right one is smushed into something solid.
I pause, realizing that for the first time in what feels like forever, I slept through the entire night. Then, it dawns on me.
It’s because Walker has me tangled up in his limbs, with the right side of my face pressed to his very nicely sculpted pecs. He’s warm and lean, and I snuggle closer, hoping that the clock doesn’t read a time that is close to when the girls will wake up. I want to relish this a bit, especially since there is a gorgeous man still snoozing next to me.
When I asked Walker to stay last night, I think I surprised us both. But what I said is true; I don’t want to run from this anymore. I’m done with people controlling me, and like Ginny said, I need to feel the salt in my wounds and press on, regardless.
So I took my fate into my own hands and invited him to spend the night in my bed.
There has never been a discussion about what we are, we’re two grown adults and don’t need to talk about monogamy or exclusivity. I know that Walker knows I wouldn’t stand for him seeing other women from the moment he first kissed me. He respects that I have more going on in my life than the average person and doesn’t burden me with clingy conversations or labels. We’re a couple, he is my person.
But it seems like I may be venturing into territory where I’ll have to make my intentions known. Where we will have to discuss where this is going.
Because I’m falling in love with him. Well, I’m pretty sure, as I watch him through lidded eyes breathe peacefully beside me in bed, I’m already in love with him.
I nuzzle my nose into him, because, lord, he just smells so good, and Walker stirs.
“Sorry,” I whisper, not really feeling guilty that I woke him.
“Sex again, woman?” That deep, sleepy chuckle hits me square between the thighs.
We made love twice last night, in the dead quiet of the house as to not wake the girls. It was almost hotter that way, not being able to say anything at all.
“Just enjoying the view.” I press a kiss to his chest.
“I’m enjoying it all.” Walker squeezes my bare butt, and I feel scandalous that I didn’t even bother to put underwear or pajamas on before I fell asleep.
“Are you?” I ask, my question coming out more serious than flirty.
His eyes are still closed, but I think he hears my inflection. “What do you mean?”
It’s way too early to psychoanalyze, but suddenly, I can’t turn my brain off. The rays of morning dawn aren’t even seeping through the blinds yet, but I make myself talk. I’ve spent years keeping my thoughts and opinions to myself, and I won’t get into another relationship where I feel I can’t express them.
“We always talk about what I want, what I need. I never truly asked you. Is this what you want? It’s just … I come with a lot of baggage. My girls. A divorce. It’s a lot to handle, and I’d understand if it was too much to commit to.”
Walker presses a finger to my lips, his digit warm from the tangle of sheets. “Except I don’t see it as baggage. It’s your history, just like I have mine. We all have issues, babe. Shit, I’m a Callahan. That comes with way more pressure and responsibility than I ever wanted. Just this week, my father has started up with his ‘you’ll become the owner someday’ bullshit. I know what I want, and what I don’t want. I don’t want to wear a suit or talk budgets. I do want to spend each morning in bed with you and then walk downstairs and have those little girls boss me around. Don’t think you’re making decisions for me, or trapping me. I’m here because I want to be.”
My eyes fall closed on a sigh. It’s the first time he’s called me babe, and the endearment makes my heart flutter.
“Thank you, for saying that. You have no idea how much relief that brings me. What did your father say?”
Walker has alluded to the pressure from his family to stay on with the Pistons after he retires from playing, but this is the first time I’ve heard him really shoot down the prospect.
“Same old bullshit.” He rolls over to his side, so that we’re facing each other. “He expects me to take his seat someday. Which is the furthest thing from what I want.”
“What do you want?” I ask, curious as to what comes next and how it could affect us.
“I have a lot of years left to play, hopefully, if my body cooperates. I’ve never thought too much into the future past that. I never thought I had to. I knew I wanted to be a professional baseball player from the time I was in the peewee league. And then I accomplished it. It never occurred to me that I had to have some other dream, but the more my father presses the issue, the more I realize I have to figure it out before I’m slotted into that role without my consent.”
“Sometimes, I dream about where I could go. If there were no other extenuating circumstances, or money was no object, or the social world and its standards didn’t exist … what would I do?” I tell him, because I would often daydream like this to take me out of the hell that was my marriage.
“And where would that be?” Walker runs a hand up and down my arm.