Page 90 of Press Play

With a slight nod, she rests her head against my shoulder, and her body sinks against me. I keep my arms around her, not willing to let go.

She absentmindedly traces little circles on my chest, her breathing soft and even. I kiss her forehead, watching as her eyes flutter closed, a look of peace settling over her. I hold her tighter, noting her heartbeat is in sync with mine, the quiet understanding between us grounding me in a way I never thought possible.

A few minutes pass before Wren is fast asleep. With slow and careful movements, I get out of bed, redress, and ensure she’s comfortable before settling on the floor to set up her new desk and computer. It doesn’t take me long since I have experience with technology from my angsty teen years. Two hours pass before it’s all assembled, and I have to say I did a fantastic job.

With two monitors, a comfortable office chair, and an L-shaped desk. I glance back at her. My heart settles as I watch herchest rise and fall. Since I no longer have to fight my feelings, I crawl across the bed.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, but she doesn’t budge. I kiss her cheek, then her lips, and murmur, “You need to wake up.”

“Five more minutes?—”

I take her whine in my mouth as I kiss her, and it’s not long before I’m hard again.

“How are you?” I ask against her mouth.

“I need you again,” she says breathlessly. “But my body hurts.”

With a groan, I smother my desire and focus on her needs. “You need to rest. Why don’t I cook us some lunch?”

“You? Cook?”

Her wide eyes make me chuckle. “I can cook.”

“Since when?”

“I’ve been living by myself for some time now,” I say as I stand.

“That doesn’t explain the drawer full of takeout menus or the multitude of delivery apps on your phone.”

“I’m about to prove you wrong.” I lean down to kiss her again before walking into the kitchen. “Don’t fall back asleep!”

Wren groans, and I smile to myself.

I’m not great in the kitchen, but I’m not terrible. Mom taught me the basics. It’s not her fault I’m a lousy student. I peek into the fridge and take out a pack of chicken tenderloins.

“Lunch is served,” I declare as I enter her room. Wren is now sprawled out in the center of the bed. “Are you?—”

“I’m alive.” Her voice is muffled from the blankets.

“Are you sure?” I ask while stifling my laughter.

When she sits up, her hair is sticking up in all directions, and she has a red handprint on her cheek. I open my mouth to speak but stop when she holds up a finger.

“Don’t utter a word.”

I offer her a bowl and sit beside her. “I hope you like it.”

She takes a deep breath in. “It smells amazing. What is it?”

“Three of your favorite things: rice, cheese, and gluten-free gravy. Plus some chicken for protein.”

Taking the spoon, she scoops some up and places it in her mouth. If it’s as good as it smells, she’s going to love it.

Her eyes close, and her shoulders drop as she sighs. “This is amazing.”

With a proud smile, I rest my knee against hers and start to eat. Wren puts a show on her phone, and we watch it quietly. This is the kind of silence I can tolerate. It’s when I’m alone that the rooms close in on themselves. With Wren, I don’t mind it because every now and then, she’ll laugh.

Every bite she takes, every little smile or laugh, fills me with a sense of pride I can’t explain. I never thought making her feel at home would mean so much, but it does—seeing her so content makes everything... right.

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