Page 36 of Under One Roof

“Ian?”

“No, Roman. He’s my younger one. He’s in New York…doesn’t talk to us much.”

She opens her mouth, like she wants to ask a question, but stops herself. Good. Because I wouldn’t know the first thing to say about my relationship with Roman. Still, I’d tell her all of it. Whatever she wanted to know.

She sets down her guitar before bending to pick up Cat. He burrows into her arms, rubbing it in my face with a rattling purr that he’s able to touch her and I can’t. She sits on her bed, all comfy and cute-looking, and I feel like I’m intruding on her space, but I also don’t want to leave. So, I ask, “Was that one of your songs?”

She nods. “I wrote it forever ago.”

“It’s pretty.”

She blushes even more than before and mutters a quiet “thank you” then glances to the spot next to her on the bed. I don’t waste the silent invitation and plant myself close enough that my thigh rests against hers. She draws those big eyes of hers up to mine, biting her lip shyly, and I’ve never been more fascinated. Such an interesting little creature she is. A mix of insecurity and confidence, modesty and pure sex. I can’t get enough.

“When did you start playing guitar?” I ask, reaching out to pet Cat, which annoys him. He only wants Andi’s attention, and I get it. She sets him on the bed, and he flicks his tail—I think in a flip-off to me—then jumps to the floor to slink back upstairs.

Andi shifts to face me, sitting cross-legged, and I can’t help but admire the smooth expanse of her legs, the way the material of her shorts bunches at her hips, and how the hem of my sweatshirt covers her so it’s almost like she’s not wearing anything except that.

“About thirteen or fourteen. My grandma taught me. She started playing because of Janis Joplin. She wanted to be just like her.”

“And you?” I settle my right knee on the mattress so I’m facing her too. “Who did you want to be like?”

She taps her hummingbird tattoo. “My grandmother.”

The girl is so goddamn sweet, it makes me ache listening to her speak.

Andi’s smile takes on a faraway glint. “It sounds weird to say, but she was my best friend. We were kindred spirits, both of us born into a time and place I don’t think either of us was meant to be in.”

“Why do you say that?”

She lifts her gaze, skirting it around the room, where she’s settled in quite nicely. It’s not as tidy as I keep my room, but it’s not a mess either, merely lived-in. She has picture frames on the dresser and a wicker laundry basket that’s full to the brim. Her sneakers are next to her cowboy boots, lying on their sides.

I picture her sneakers and boots next to my shoes upstairs in my closet, but I quickly shake that idea from my mind. Especially because she clears her throat. “I was a bit lonely growing up. I have an older brother, but he’s four years older. He was okay with life there. I wasn’t. I never felt like I truly fit in. And Mimi—my grandma—she was an old hippie chick. She didn’t fit in either, but she came to live with us on the ranch when my grandpa died. And my dad…”

She slants her gaze to me, her brows drawn down. “My dad could be a real son of a bitch,” she says on a sad laugh. “He tolerated Mimi because she was my mom’s mom, but he didn’t have the same…restraint with me. I was his daughter, so he could discipline me how he saw fit.”

I instinctively curl my fingers into fists. “He ever hit you?”

She bites into her bottom lip, her eyes going watery. My tenderhearted girl. “No,” she whispers eventually. “He never hit me. Sometimes I think that might have been easier to take. A slap over his words.”

I shake my head, my voice close to a rumble. “No child deserves to be abused in any way. Full stop.”

She sniffs and nods. “That’s why I was so close to Mimi. She supported me. Loved me when it sometimes felt like no one else did.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’m glad you had your grandmother. I’m glad she was there for you.”

“That’s why it was so hard for me when she passed. It felt like…” She picks at the zipper of the hoodie as she finds her words. “She was the last person to believe in me, and she’s gone.”

I can’t sit here and listen to her heartbreak and not touch her, so I place my hand on her bare knee. When she glances at it, I’m quick to remove it, but she hits me with one of her soft smiles. The shy one that makes me want to pull her into my lap and keep her tucked up safe against me. “It’s okay.”

So, I let my palm cup her knee, fingers extending up her thigh. “You said you have a best friend, though, right?”

“Dahlia, yeah. She’s there for me.”

“And you have me and the kids.”

She catches my eyes, cheeks dimpling. “And you and the kids.”

A moment passes between us when I imagine the four of us all curled up on the couch, watching a movie together, me on one end, Andi on the other, with the twins between us. My arm on the back of the cushions, playing with Andi’s hair. Her smiling at me.

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