Page 96 of Little Bird
I don’t care about the truck. I only care that we got to Taryn in time, and then got her home and warm, and showed her exactly how much we love her.
Again, and again, and again.
The night after that is awash with joy and fulfillment and the warm, golden shine of her eyes as she took me inside her and let me hold her. Let us have every inch of her. And God, she gave us everything. Every piece of herself, she gave over to our love.
Love.
It’s not a word I think about often, but looking at her now, as she finds problems with the plan she wrote and figures out how to fix them, I know it’s true. I didn’t love her mother. Helen was a marriage built of convenience and lack of thought, and it never would have worked. I did love Natalie. But not enough to keep her.
Not enough to do what it took to save her.
Taryn is something else, something special and vital and foundational, and now that she’s here, I’m not sure how we ever survived without her. Though maybe the four years of her absence was just the universe training us on how to take care of her once she got here.
I glance at Gabe now, also hard at work on some plans he has for a new chair, and my grin turns more affectionate. That boy. We’ve been at odds since Helen and Taryn left, and honestly even before that, as we tried to come to terms with Natalie’s death. Hell, we’ve barely talked for the last four years, and I can probably count on one hand then number of times I saw him smile in that time. He’s grown into a remarkable young man and I almost missed it because I was so angry at the world.
Now he’s smiling again for the first time since Taryn left, and that smile is wide and natural and actually reaches his eyes. He’s happy. Content. Safe.
And as for me?
I’m smiling too. My face hardly remembers how to do it, but it’s there. Because of Taryn.
A phone call interrupts my ridiculous star gazing, and I glance down at the device, annoyed. I hate when someone calls me when I’m in the middle of a project, and right now the marketing plan has my full attention. Taryn is convinced that we can turn everything around, and I’m inclined to believe her, but we want to do our first spread for Christmas and time is growing short. I don’t have time for a fucking phone call.
Maybe I should just get rid of my phone entirely and let Taryn tell me when I’m needed for something to do with electronics. Borrow her phone. Ask for specific instructions and help. Her hands all over me while I do whatever she wants.
You know, I think there’s something to this idea.
My phone rings again, and Taryn looks up. “Are you going to answer that or do you want me to do it for you?”
The girl is so good she can actually read minds.
Maybe I should be more careful about what I’m thinking.
“No, I’ve got it,” I grumble.
I stand and plant a soft kiss on her forehead, lingering at the smooth silkiness of her skin and letting my lips trail down to her temple, then put the phone to my ear and walk into the kitchen.
“What, Gabby?” I ask, knowing how sharp and angry I sound. I don’t even care. Two weeks ago I would never have talked to her like this. I was too concerned about keeping her satisfied enough to stick around.
Now I know that love shouldn’t feel that stressful. It shouldn’t feel like fear. Intense, yes. Full of work, yes. But something you have to physically force yourself to do?
Never.
But maybe I didn’t need to worry, because when she answers, her voice is wheedling. “Good morning to you, too. What are you doing this morning?”
“Working on business. About to have breakfast.”
I don’t ask any questions about what she’s doing because I don’t want to have a conversation. I want her to hang up and leave me alone. I haven’t actually liked the woman since last week and the truth is I need to just bite the bullet and break up with her, but I’ve been dragging my feet because something about it doesn’t feel right.
Something about her feels dangerous, and though I can’t put my finger on it, my instincts are screaming that I need to keep her close rather than turning her loose. Keep her on our side.
I realize she’s being too quiet on the other end of the line and shake my head, trying to focus. Did she say something? Ask me something? Her silence is heavy with expectation and suspense, which means she’s said something she expects a big reaction to.
Shit. Focus, Gunner.
“Well?” she asks.
Goddammit. What are the chances I can guess at the right answer, here? How much will she punish me if I guess wrong?
