Page 74 of Whirlwind
“Of course. Let me kennel Nightmare.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah,” I say, feeling badly that I’ve completely forgotten about the one thing in life that wholly relies on me.
“I got it,” he reassures.
“I’m a bad fur mommy,” I say when he comes back and crawls into bed with me.
“No, you aren’t. You were distracted, is all.” He brushes my hair off my face and presses a kiss to my nose.
“It’s been an eventful night.” I snuggle closer to him. He hums when he pulls me closer still, his heart beating against my cheek. I listen as it calms and mine begins to synchronize with his. It doesn’t take that long. Strange how our bodies become so easily in tune with each other, even if our brains might fight it. I don’t want to fight it—fight the idea of him. Or us. But there’s more for him to know. More I need to share of myself.
“Tyson?”
“Yeah?”
“My father knew,” I say, feeling like a boulder is stuck in my throat. “He saw and didn’t stop it.”
“God damn it, love,” he curses, squeezing me tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“He said I was like her—my mother. That I was just asking for men’s attention. But I never did.” My face is buried in his chest, and I keep it there. I don’t want to see the look on his face. Nor do I want him to see that I quit crying about this years ago.
“I know, I know you didn’t,” he says. “You should have had someone on your side, Kit.”
“I dreamed of it,” I tell him. “But I have that now.”
“You do. You have a lot of people on your side. A lot of people who love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hair. “You are safe here.”
He squeezes me tighter, and I know the truth of his words as I lie in his arms.
“Good morning,” Tyson says when he notices me watching him.
I woke up hours ago. Wanting to let him sleep, I snuck out of bed and went straight to my computer. With my headphones on, I started a replay ofSkyrim. Probably my twentieth playthrough, or close to it. I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up until about fifteen minutes ago.
He’s doing his usual morning yoga routine, only this time, it’s in my living room with Nightmare stretching and rolling around next to him.
“Has he perfected his downward facing dog, yet?”
“Surprisingly, no. But he’s getting there,” he says with a laugh. “Aren’t you, buddy?” Nightmare yips and spins in response. Tyson ends with a warrior pose. Dressed in nothing but boxer briefs, every muscle is a feast for my eyes. The bruises spattered here and there are an enhancement rather than a deterrent tohis athletic beauty. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of simply watching him. Even the way he walks toward me is with an air of graceful power.
“Hi,” I say when he’s in front of me and pulling me in for a kiss.
“Hey.” His lips are cool; his tongue still has a hint of his morning coffee. “I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“Last night, I suggested you talk to your father. Knowing what I know now, I wish you’d stay no contact.”
“You didn’t know,” I say. “I thought about what you said, though.”
“Which part?”
“Learning about my heritage,” I say. I lay in bed for a good half hour, mulling over his suggestion, analyzing the truth of why I’ve never explored that part of me. I’m surrounded by Native culture here in the Pacific Northwest, and I’ve never let myself appreciate any of it. It’s easier to ignore it, to lie and say it doesn’t mean anything to me. That’s not honest, though. “I haven’t done it before out of fear that he’s right. That I am like her. Like someone who could leave her family without a word.”
“Kit, no. You would never,” he says.
“I know, but a lifetime of intrusive thoughts are hard to ignore.”
“Especially if they’re reinforced by a parental figure,” he says, not leaving out his obvious disdain for my father.
