Page 40 of Little Bird
Christ, it feels like I never left. Our bodies know each other better than we know ourselves, and as big as he is, he still fits against me perfectly. I want to crawl into his lap and straddle him, take his face in my hands and kiss his tears away. Let my mouth find his and linger there, telling him everything I’ve never been able to tell him about my feelings.
But I know without asking that that’s not what he needs right now.
So instead, I let go of him long enough to sit down next to him, then push and pull until he’s lying on his side, his head in my lap and my fingers twisting through his hair. He hugs my legs and turns his face into my legs, and though it could be suggestive and forbidden, it’s not. It’s my best friend in the world, my other half, clinging desperately to someone who actually sees him.
“Tell me,” I say quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
I bite my lip, but don’t give up. It’s always taken a little convincing to get him to share his secrets. “Okay. Let’s start with how often you find yourself in your closet in the middle of the night, crying on your own.”
He pauses for so long that I think he might have fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation. But then he shifts and I realize he’s still awake. Just measuring the pros and cons of telling me the truth.
Finally, he laughs. “Every night since you left, Little Bird.”
Jesus Christ. I’ve been here two minutes and I’m already in too deep.
And though I could probably put a stop to it right now, I’m not going to.
Because when it comes to Gabe Hawke, I’ve always been all in. And four years apart doesn’t change that.
“Tell me,” I say gently. “Let me save you the way I used to, Bubba.”
Gabe
For the first time since I came to my room, my lips curve into a smile.
Bubba. She hasn’t called me that since we were twelve or thirteen, and I don’t remember why she started—or why she stopped. But the nickname makes me feel warm for the first time in years, and it releases something in me. Something I’ve been holding onto for too long, though I knew it was hurting me.
But here, sitting in the dark in my safe space and finally feeling her with me again—finally having someone actually asking me what’s wrong—my body releases the breath it’s been holding.
And I start talking.
I tell her about Gabby first, because I’ve seen the way the woman looks at Taryn. I’m not surprised by it. She started dating my father and decided almost immediately that she was going to be his next wife. Started planning what she was going to do with the house. Worst of all, she started treating me like she had any right to be my mother.
“She’s not my mom,” I say harshly. “She has no right to pretend she is. She’s not my people.”
I stop myself there, knowing I’m getting close to something we never talk about, and listen to Taryn breathing quietly above me. Christ, I didn’t mean to say that. I’ve never talked about my mother before, though I know Taryn knows at least some of what happened to her.
Bringing her up was one of three things Taryn wasn’t allowed to do when she was here before. And I’ve just given her the perfect route to ask.
But I’m still not ready to talk about it.
To my surprise, she doesn’t take the bait. Anyone else would have seen it and grabbed at it immediately. Used my current tear-soaked state to dig into my history and find out things they didn’t know.
But not my Little Bird. Because I don’t have to tell her it’s a boundary I won’t cross until I’m ready.
I’ve never had to tell her anything. She’s just known.
“Is that why you’re up here?” she asks instead.
I snort. “Because of Gabby? Are you serious? She doesn’t mean enough to me to cry over her.”
She laughs quietly. “I never thought she did. But something’s bothering you, and you started with her, so I figured...”
I reach out and squeeze her knee where I know from long experience that she’s ticklish, and she squirms and shrieks.
“Hey, no fair!” she mutters. “I didn’t realize we were using physical violence! I wasn’t prepared!”
