Page 86 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

We were all silent for a moment, and then someone by the heavy metal door called, “Just a few minutes left. Time to say your goodbyes.”

Mara and Duncan shared a look that I didn’t understand.

Duncan reached into his pocket and got out a card. “I know I don’t deserve shit from you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me dead, but I’d like a chance to be the kind of dad you deserve. Make up for lost time.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. Couldn’t decide whether to be happy for Mara or outraged for her. I’d seen the way he made her feel at the press conference. Watched the way she so closely guarded her heart because of the wounds he’d inflicted before she ever knew she needed protecting.

She took the card from him and stood up. I followed her lead, putting my hand on her lower back, like that simple touch could let her know I’d do anything for her, protect her however I could.

She held up the card for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

He gave her a tearful smile. “Thank you.”

We walked out of the room together, quiet amongst all the noise of families leaving around us. I gave her space, let her process something I could never even imagine experiencing, especially after such a big day for the two of us.

I held the car door open for her, and she got in, not meeting my eyes. I shut the door and walked to my side. After I got in, I laced my fingers through hers. “I know that was a lot. Whenever you want to talk, I’m ready.”

She smiled for half a second, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead of speaking, she lifted my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles.

That was good enough for me. I drove back to Emerson, putting in a call for food to be delivered to my house. I told her I’d have Birdie grab some things from her house, and then I took Mara home. To the place where she belonged.

We walked into my clean house and I led her straight to the couch, the part of this home that was definitely hers. I sat with her on my lap and held her as she cried.

It felt like hours, watching her be in pain, before the tears finally subsided. I ran my hand over her hair, wishing I could take all the pain away. But since I couldn’t, I said, “Can I run you a bath?” My mom always drew baths for us kids when we were sick, when we’d gone through heartache. I was home from college, admitting to my failed marriage the last time Mom ran the water for me, adding scented Epsom salts and essential oils.

Mara nodded slowly, accepting my offer. I got up, walking down the hall and through my bedroom to the bathroom. I didn’t use the soaking tub much, but it was massive and relaxing. I hoped it would be just what she needed.

I ran the water as hot as it would go, dropped some lavender Epson salts inside, and then reached for the candles stored at the top of my linen closet. I’d bought them on a whim, and they’d gone unused for a couple years, but I was glad they were here.

As soon as I lit all the candles and the tub was full, I turned off the lights and went to get Mara. She was where I’d left her on the couch, her shoulders slumped, like she wanted to make herself smaller. As if she were tiny enough, her pain wouldn’t be able to find her.

“Hey,” I said gently. “The bath’s ready.”

She looked up at me and slipped her fingers into my offered hand. We walked back to the bathroom and instead of leaving, I said, “Put your arms over your head.”

She did as I asked, the candlelight flickering over her skin, and I slipped the shirt over her head. I did the same with her leggings, pulling them to the floor and asking her to step out of them. Then I unclasped her bra, freeing her breasts. I could see her in the mirror. Beautiful. Stoic.

I dipped my hand in the bathwater, which had cooled just enough to be bearable. “It’s ready.”

She stepped into the tub, settling in slowly, and looked up at me.

“I’ll give you some time,” I said, ready to go to the living room and wait for her, even though I wished I could just sit here holding her towel, supporting her until she was ready to get out.

“Jonas?” she asked before I reached the door.

“Yeah?”

“Can you... get in with me?”

I smiled gently. “Of course.” She watched as I undressed myself, and then I went to the back side of the tub and said, “Scoot forward.”

She did as I asked, and the water rose around us as I sat behind her. The tub was so deep the water came to my chest, still several inches from spilling, and I held her to me, hoping the steady pace of my breath would soothe her.

She rested her head back against my shoulder, and I kissed her temple.

“I haven’t talked to my mom since I was twelve years old,” she said quietly.

I closed my eyes against the pain I felt for her. The pain I heard in her voice.

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