Page 73 of Townshipped
“Em, you already do it. You’re a ballast. You …”
He stops himself. As much as I want to know what he’s not saying, tonight is not the time to push. Well, face it, tonight is over. We’re well into this morning.
Was he going to say I’m more to him? It’s not important. I heard what he did say. What he left unspoken can’t change the fact that my presence adds to his list of obligations.
“We don’t have to tackle all this tonight. I’m fine now.”
Aiden grimaces at my use of the word.
“You need your sleep,” I encourage him.
“So do you,” he says, his eyes softening. “I’m not leaving you.”
He walks back to me and resettles on the edge of my bed. This time I travel toward him like I’m moving over a bag of potatoes. Mashed potatoes, but still. Or maybe it’s socks. Yeah. More like a laundry bag full of socks.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re grumpy and bossy in the middle of the night?” I ask.
“No one has seen me in the middle of the night since I was in college but you.”
His statement hangs heavy between us. I feel a tingly awareness of him. He feels it too. It’s in the heaviness of his eyelids, the restrained clench of his jaw. His tongue darts out for the briefest moment, his eyes land on me in that way they have the other two times we ended up in one another’s arms, our mouths exploring, hands roving.
“You’re not kissing me in a hotel room with your family occupying half the rooms around us,” I playfully warn in a hoarse whisper, hoping to lighten the mood.
Instead my words come out like a silken reminder of kisses shared. Aiden squeezes his eyes shut. He runs his palm down his thigh.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you …” Clearing his throat he changes whatever he was about to say. “I’ll be right there—in Lexi’s bed. Wake me for anything if you need me.”
He looks over at the bed.
All I hear on repeat in my head is Aiden saying,if you don’t want me to kiss you … if you don’t want me to kiss you … me kiss you … me kiss you …
Um, yes. Please?
Aiden’s next words break through my thoughts.
“At least your scream got me out of rooming with Trevor. He was driving me nuts with his neurotic new-dad routine.”
Trevor’s obviously not the only one with neurotic new-dad issues. I smile to myself.
Aiden stands from my bed and I feel his absence immediately. Probably mostly because the momentum of him standing causes me to roll back toward the part of the bed where there’s a huge divot. It’s more like a canoe has been carved into the middle of the mattress. I slide right down into that crease and stay there.
“I’m a human taco,” I say, sticking my arms up from beside me toward the ceiling to demonstrate how truly sunk I am.
Aiden laughs. It starts as a low chuckle, but then he really laughs. It’s like all the pent-up stress and pressure comes to a boil and has to escape through this laugh. It’s the laugh of a man on the brink, about to snap. But at least he’s laughing. I catch the giggles and then I snort, which makes us both laugh harder.
What starts as a harmless release builds until each laugh draws out more from the other person. We’re uncontrolled. One of us will try to regain composure and then the other one sets the fit of laughter off again. I’m holding my stomach. Aiden’s bracing his hands on his knees, bending over slightly.
Trevor’s voice comes through the door in a loud whisper. “Keep it down, you two. You are going to wake the baby and the entire marching band.”
“Sorry,” Aiden says between gasps of laughter.
He takes a few deep breaths and recovers his self-control. I inhale and let the air out slowly, the smile not leaving my face. We needed that.
Aiden climbs into the bed across from me and we say goodnight. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily.
I need Aiden too much. Everyone needs him. And he’s about to take on two children whose needs will be larger than anything one man should bear alone. I promise myself to work on increasing my independence. I’ll make sure I’m not on the list of things that add to Aiden’s overwhelm.
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