Page 148 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“No stress, champ,” I reply, squeezing his hand once more before standing.
“Dad?” Raiden asks once I’m a few steps from the door.
“Yeah, Rai?”
“Could I…have a hug goodnight?” His voice is small, almost as if he expects me to say no.
I pull him into my arms in a tight squeeze.
This. This is everything. I’d fight a thousand Lakelands if it meant I could have this moment.
I look over my son’s head to his sister in the next bed. She’ll come around, too. It’ll just take time.
It will all take time.
After tucking Raiden back in for the evening, I exit the room and shut the door slowly.
I expect to be alone in the hall, but when I turn, she’s there.
Shae leans against the wall with her arms and ankles crossed, a wrinkled Asheford University T-shirt barely covering the shortest pair of shorts in all of Chicago, I’m sure of it.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says. “I was gonna check on the twins and heard voices.”
I try not to gawk at her, so to cover my sudden awkwardness, I mirror her pose on the wall next to the kids’ door.
“I just got in. Sorry for missing bedtime,” I say, and she shrugs.
“I’m used to doing it alone,” she replies.
For the first time, the statement doesn’t feel like a dig. I search for something, anything, to say, and I start to panic when Shae straightens.
“Well, I guess this is goodnight,” she says, but she doesn’t begin to walk down the hallway. She just stands there, looking at me with a guarded expression.
“Do you want some ice cream?” I blurt out, saying the first thing that comes to mind to keep her with me for a while longer.
Shae releases an amused huff and says, “Ice cream? It’s midnight, Storm.”
I shrug. “That’s the best time to eat ice cream in my book.”
She grins and seems to think about it for a moment before saying, “Lead the way.”
I don’t do the thing I want to do, the natural thing, which is to grab her hand and wind our fingers together. She hasn’t given me permission to move to that stage, and she may never.
And I’ll have to be okay with that.
When we hit the kitchen, Shae settles at one of the stools while I head to the freezer.
I chuckle when I see the options.
“Butter pecan?” she whisper-shouts when I turn around. “Okay, grandpa.”
I snort, dropping the gallon of Blue Bell on the marble countertop. Pulling at drawers in search of spoons and an ice cream scoop, I say, “Listen, beggars can’t be choosers. I don’t usually eat this stuff, however, Axel has a sweet tooth, so…” I shrug, placing the utensils on the counter and grabbing a bowl.
“Ah, so we’re stealing then,” she says slowly, eyeing me down as I dump two large lumps of ice cream into the dish.
“Is it really stealing if he’s housing it in my refrigerator?” I ask, and Shae makes a face.
“Touché,” she replies.
