I lean over and kiss his stubbly throat. His grip in my hair twitches, his fingers making a fist out of my strands, pulling my head back.
“I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to your dad,” he repeats his words from last night and I immediately frown.
“I’m your protector, aren’t I?” he rumbles.
“Yes, but listen—”
“No. Whatever his initial reaction might be, I will be the one to take it.”
“But Dean, he’s my dad and I—”
“Yeah, he’s your dad but you’re mine.” His fist flexes in my hair as he continues, “And I’ll protect you from everyone including him, if I have to.”
My dad is my dad and I love him more than I love anyone else in this world. I don’t need to be protected from him. I know how to handle him.
But this man in front of me, this man whom I’ve loved as long as I’ve loved my dad, needs this. He absolutely needs this from me. His flaring nostrils, his tight fingers in my hair, the way he’s leaning into me with determination—everything points to the fact that he wants this.
And I don’t know how to refuse him.
Everything inside me clenches up and I nod. “Okay.”
At my acquiescence, a little stiffness from his body drains away. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I whisper, smiling, feeling a feminine pride that I pleased him.
“You were born for me,” he whispers swallowing, instead of acknowledging my I love you, his eyes roving over my face.
“I was.”
He leans down and presses his mouth on my forehead, whispering on my skin, writing the words with his lips. “And I was born for you.”
Okay, I have to admit that this is better, so much better than saying I love you too.
“You want to get out?” he asks then.
I take in a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Good. Because they might be coming out to get us any second.”
With one last lingering look at me, Dean lets me go and I climb out of the car into the deep winter.
I’m scared—not going to lie about it—but after our little moment in the car just now, I remember that I’m strong as well.
I can do it.
I can face whatever happens from here on out as long as Dean is with me.
Smiling at him over the roof of the car, I turn around and walk up the pathway that I’ve taken a million times before, that I know my dad must’ve cleared early this morning before anyone had gotten up, after last night’s snow—Dad likes to do things away from everyone’s eyes, silently so no one pays him any attention. So no one knows that it’s him taking out all the obstacles in our way before we even notice them.
As soon as I’m on the porch, the brown door with the largest brass knocker that I’ve ever seen rips open and there stands my mother, with her long silver hair in a neat bun, in a dressy but comfortable pair of jeans and a silk blouse.
She beams with shiny green eyes and waves her arm in a beckoning gesture. “What are you doing out there? It’s cold. Get in here.”
My own eyes—gray as my dad’s—fill with water at her voice. She’s got the softest voice ever.
And whenever my days are hard and I don’t know if I’ll ever smile, I hear that voice in my head. I hear her say that we’re warriors. That we can do whatever we want and if I want to smile, I will.
My brain won’t stop me.
“It’s not cold, Mom. Well, not in the car,” I say, walking toward her.
She frowns a little then. Not in a bad way, simply in a curious way. Her gaze moves over my face and I wonder if she can read everything that’s in my heart.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course she can and she does, her smile becoming soft. As soft as her voice.
She looks over my shoulders then and I know she’s found Dean, who’s probably walking up to the porch right now, because her eyes are as watery as mine.
Before he gets close though, Mom looks back at me. “Does he?”
My heart squeezes again in that achy way like it did back in the car. I reach her and give her a tight hug as I whisper, “He does.”
Mom returns my hug. “Good.”
I lean back and look at her seriously. “Do you think Dad’s going to lose it?”
“Maybe,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Mom, you’re enjoying this,” I accuse.
She leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Maybe a little.”
Before I can say anything, I feel Dean climbing the porch steps and coming up behind me. I move away so my mom can get to him, and by that I mean she literally gets to him.
“Dean, I’m so mad at you,” she exclaims even as she wraps him in a tight hug. “You’re supposed to check in with me every week and every week, something comes up and you don’t call.”
Dean’s frame softens up and he smiles as he surrenders to Mom’s hug. “I’m sorry. Work’s just been crazy.”
She frowns up at him; I know that from her tone even though I can’t see her face. “So? Don’t I deserve five minutes of your time? This is the first time I’m seeing you in two years. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you? How worried we’ve all been? You and me, we’re going to talk now that you’re here. You need to understand how this thing works.”
Dean wants to smile at my mom. There are lines bracketing his mouth that are almost ready to come out and deepen.
My mom’s like me, petite and it can be hilarious when she goes all stern on the three men in my life, Dad, Brendan and Dean.
Actually, no. It’s more hilarious that these three guys who tower over her—and by extension, me—nod and obey her every word.
Which is what Dean does.
He nods gravely. “Okay, ma’am.” Then, he leans over and kisses her on the forehead. “It’s good be home.”
I have to bite my lip at that. At his home.
How his voice changed and deepened with satisfaction and a sigh. How loose he looks now that Mom’s hugging him like family and how much he belongs here.
Yeah, this is where he belongs, with us, with our family.
Thank fucking God that I planned this five-day trip.
I watch him with my mom for a few seconds without really listening to what they’re talking about when I hear someone boo in my ear and bump into my shoulder.
I jump and whirl around.
“Brendan!”
He stands there grinning like an idiot.
Well, not an idiot, or at least, not an idiot to the world—he might be that for me though.
My little brother is turning out to be very good looking, if I do say so myself. That’s because if I’m the carbon copy of our mother, Brendan takes after our dad.
He has the same dark thick hair as Dad. Only Brendan’s falls on his brows in messy waves. And even though he has a lot of growing still left to do and he’s in that awkward teenage phase where his limbs are lanky and too long, he has the makings of a tall, broad build like our dad’s.