Page 126 of Keeping the Score

She curls her fingers around mine and holds on tight. Her eyes hazy, her wet lips parted, she looks so goddamn beautiful it makes my chest hurt.

A groan climbs my throat as my heart fills with love, and pleasure twists in my body. Andi’s eyes widen as her orgasm builds, then drift closed, her body tightening, squeezing me. Electricity shorts out my brain and fire explodes low in my belly, burning through me, my balls, my cock, streaking up my spine. I fall over her, burying my face in the side of her neck as wave after wave of hot pleasure rolls over me, pulsing through my veins. “Love you, Andi,” I gasp into the soft skin of her neck.

“I love you, too, Ford.” Her arms wrap tightly around me, and her mouth opens on my shoulder in a long kiss.

I shift to my side, keeping us joined, and hold her like the precious gift she is. “You make me better,” I mumble into her hair.

She strokes my shoulder, my upper arm. “You make yourself better.”

“I want to be better for you. And for Tilly.”

“Ford, we love you as you are. I know you think you’re messed up and weird, but I think you’re amazing. Talented. Hard working. Protective.”

“Nitpicky.”

I sense her smile. “How about neat and organized?”

“Okay. You’re right. Even at my worst, I’m fucking incredible.”

She bursts out laughing, then slaps a hand over her mouth, her body shaking against mine, and I lift my head to smile into her eyes.

Love is scary and complicated. It’s acceptance and intimacy, safety and friendship, painful and… fun. Especially with Andi… it’s fun.

Tilly’s still too young to know what Christmas is all about, but the rest of us know and we’ve bought a shit ton of gifts for her. My parents are here to celebrate with us, proud grandparents who are obviously going to spoil Tilly rotten.

It’s a bittersweet Christmas, though. Willa passed away a few days ago. I fucking hate that Tilly has lost her mother. I’m also fiercely, sharply determined to look after Tilly the best I possibly can, and also to make sure she knows her mother as well as I can tell her.

We’re gathered in the living room on Christmas morning. The first gift is one I bring out from the closet in the spare room—a huge bouquet of red roses for Andi.

She takes them with wonder, admiring the bright petals then lifting her eyes to mine. “Thank you.”

“I screwed up last time with the flowers.”

She looks up from the card, where I wroteRed roses are for devotion, passion, romance, desire, and true love. “The ones at the hotel?”

I bend my head closer to her. “Yeah. I was absolutely a coward. Everyone knows red roses are for love. I thought giving you red roses would be too much. So I went with… what was it? Passion, desire, fascination.” I pause. “Thoseareall true, by the way. But red was what I felt. Love.”

Her eyes get glossy. “You are such a romantic, Ford Archibald.”

“Who knew?” I shrug. “I kind of enjoy it.”

“Just like you enjoy being a girl dad.”

“Oh, hey, hold on.” Mom speaks up. “Let’s be careful with that term.”

I hike my eyebrows up and turn to her. “Girl dad?”

“Yes.” Holding Tilly, she stands, passion animating her face.

Oh, boy. Here we go. I repress a smile.

“The idea of a ‘girl dad’ makes us go along with the gender binary.”

I slid my gaze over to Andi, who’s also listening and when she meets my eyes, hers are dancing.

“Girl dads are great if it means actually showing up for your daughter, not just doing something perceived as feminine, like doing her hair or playing with Barbies. And let’s not feed the patriarchy. Men get praised for changing a diaper or taking their daughter for a walk. Come on! Praise for doing the bare minimum? That’s bullshit.”

“My mother, the feminist,” I murmur.

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