“Hey, blossom, going to bed?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she answered.
I stopped and thought twice but decided to go for it, reaching a hand her way and brushing the back of hers with my fingertips before I said quietly, “Thank you for helping make me feel better tonight.”
She ducked her head, shrugged a shoulder and replied, “Not a problem, Amy.”
I didn’t like that but I didn’t push it. The night had been a good night. She’d been Ash of old (or the old I knew). Hanging with her family. Being quiet-ish but not gloomy. It wasn’t the time to push it.
“Okay, kid, I’ll let you go to bed. Thanks for a good dinner,” I said, giving her a small grin and moving past her.
“Amy?” she called.
I stopped and turned back, seeing her in the open door to her bedroom.
I was only two feet away.
“Yes, honey?” I asked.
“Mom bought that candle. The one on the coffee table.”
At her words, words delivered apropos of nothing but whatever was in Aisling’s head, I braced.
“Okay,” I said when she spoke no more.
“It was on what she called our first ‘big girl shopping trip,’” she told me. “I was seven. I picked the sand.”
“It’s a pretty candle, Ash,” I remarked when she stopped talking.
“She brought it home,” she carried on like I didn’t speak. “Dad teased her like he always teased her when she bought candles. Saying no wife of a fireman had candles. But he didn’t really care. What she liked, he’d like because he liked her.”
“Aisling,” I whispered.
She lifted her chin. “She took it. When she left. She took it.”
I nodded.
“I stole it,” she declared. “I stole it and brought it back.”
“Right,” I said gently.
Her chin trembled and she stared at me.
“Ash—”
“It’s my umbrella,” she whispered.
Then she disappeared behind her closed door.
Which was good since I had to put my hand to the wall to hold myself up, she’d cut me so deep, the blood was pouring out of me.
* * * * *
“Fuck me,” Mickey murmured, his head turned to the side.
He had his back against his headboard, knees cocked, gray flannel pajama bottoms on. I’d never seen him in pajama bottoms (or anything of the like). Then again, when Mickey and I spent the night together, it didn’t involve children in the house.
I was cross-legged beside him, wearing his tee.
I’d just told him Aisling’s candle story.
“Mickey—”
He looked to me. “She brought it back. I noticed. I didn’t say anything because she was weird about it and it was clear she didn’t want me to say anything.”
“That was probably a good call,” I replied.
“For her, that candle’s good times. Before her mom got lost in the bottle. When things were good between her mom and me. Good in the family.”
I nodded.
Mickey looked away and repeated, “Fuck me.”
I gave him a moment, doing it because he needed it but doing it hating to watch him bleed for his baby, before I advised gently, “You should leave it, honey.”
“Yeah,” he told his duvet.
“Mickey?”
He looked to me. “Yeah?”
I looked at him. I looked in those beautiful blue eyes that were now bruised. Worried about his girl. Wanting to fix things. A provider. A protector. Powerless against ugly memories that were still being made.
I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted those words to be the magic words I could say that would sweep away the pain. If even for a brief flash of happy, take it all away and send him soaring.
But it was too soon. Neither of us had gotten anywhere near that. In our one-step-at-a-time relationship that included us building it at the same time taking our positions in each other’s families, which would ultimately lead to blending those families, I was spending my first night in his bed under his roof with his kids there.
That was enough for now.
So I gave him that, pushing forward and putting my hands to him, then my weight to him as I kissed his chest, lifted up and kissed the base of his throat and finally snuggled close.
He curved his arms around me.
“The good news is she opened up to me. That means, maybe I can see where that will lead and get more,” I remarked.
“Yeah, that’s the good news.”
He didn’t seem fired up about it.
Then again, he had to see that candle every day probably dozens of times a day and do it knowing what it meant.
I decided to change the subject.
“Thanks for taking care of me tonight.”
He straightened his legs and turned, drawing me closer before he tangled us together, one of his hands gliding up and into my hair to cup the back of my head so he could press my face to his throat.
When he was done doing that, he muttered, “Somethin’ else I can give you.”
“Something you’re good at giving,” I told him. “It was a terrible day. But it was good night.”
“Yeah.”
“Though, in all honesty, you don’t get all the credit. Peanut butter Rice Krispie treats with chocolate chips did a fair amount of the work.”
I heard the smile in his voice when he asked, “A fair amount?”
“However, I must admit to being alarmed Mrs. McMurphy knew about my secret coding machine.”
His body started shaking with his chuckles.
I cuddled closer and kissed his throat.
I settled in and shared, “But you did help. A little bit.”
“Good I could help…a little bit,” he replied, still lightly chuckling.
“And you may be the only man on earth who notices toiletries and has the courage to brave the cosmetics section of the mall to buy his girlfriend moisturizer,” I remarked.
I felt him shift and tipped my head back to see him looking down at me.
“Selfish,” he stated.
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“Break this seal, can’t be resealed. And it’d suck for you since you’re gonna be in my bed a lot to have to drag your shit back and forth all the time. So now that won’t suck for you.”
Oh my God, he was right.
The seal was broken and now…now…
Now I got more time with Mickey.
His tone lowered when he noted, “Nighties, you can tuck in your purse then shove in my drawer.”
He was okay with my shoving stuff in his drawer!