He groaned into her mouth.
Then he f**ked her in a way that she could make no mistake he was claiming her as his. It was like their first time, hard, quick, out-of-control and pure magic.
Elle, being Elle, after it was over, and their breath had slowed, mistook him.
She tried to exit the bed.
He caught her and pulled her back into his body.
“Where are you going?” he growled into the back of her head.
“I need to go to my bed. The children –”
His arm got tight and she stopped breathing. He even heard her breath going out of her lungs in a whoosh.
He didn’t care.
He was not letting her go.
“You sleep here, with me.”
She made a noise he couldn’t decipher.
He didn’t try.
Wishing to be certain she was clear and made no further mistake, he repeated, “From now on, you sleep here, with me. You sleep nowhere else, no’ in this house. If you sleep somewhere else but this house, I’ll be there too and you’ll still f**king sleep with me.”
She was silent, her body tense then she asked, “Has… um, has something happened?”
“Aye.”
She was silent again then she asked with a tinge of incredulity, “Erm… how can something happen? It’s the middle of the night.”
He didn’t answer; he just gave her a squeeze.
Elle, being Elle, didn’t let it go.
“What happened?”
“I’m not f**king around anymore, that’s what’s happened.”
“You… um,” she paused then carried on, “you just woke up and decided you’re not f**king around anymore?” This time there was more than a tinge of incredulity.
“Aye,” he lied.
“Fucking around about what?” she asked.
He decided not to answer.
When she spoke again, she was whispering, “Pren, are you okay?”
There it was again.
She asked like she cared, like she was worried, like she wanted to take care of him.
Like she took care of f**king everyone.
But herself.
He gave her a gentle squeeze this time.
“No,” he answered truthfully.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No,” he answered, again truthfully.
“Can I… is there something I can do?”
He was right.
She wanted to take care of him.
“Aye.”
“What?”
“You and Sally made chocolate chip cookies. They’re delicious but I prefer the oatmeal ones. You want to do something, make those for me tomorrow.”
Her body stilled then she breathed, “Are you serious?”
“Aye.”
She was silent.
Then she said, “You wake me up in the middle of the night. We… erm, you know. Then you get all intense and say something’s wrong but you won’t tell me what. And now you’re saying you want oatmeal cookies?”
He could see this would seem highly bizarre.
He didn’t care about that either.
“Aye.”
“Do you have a fever?”
Something relaxed inside him; he felt the fierce clutch of it let him go.
The warmth hit his gut and he smiled into her hair.
“I don’t have a fever, Elle.”
She pulled at his hold. “Maybe I should check.”
His hold again grew tight. “Just go to sleep.”
“Pren –”
“Sleep.”
“But –”
His hand curled on her breast, her body stilled then relaxed.
He nuzzled his face in her hair, his voice went low, soft and coaxing when he urged, “Sleep, baby.”
She didn’t answer.
She also didn’t sleep, not for some time.
Finally, he felt her body get heavy and he let out a relieved sigh.
Before she drifted away, she murmured sleepily, “If you’ve caught something, you’re quarantined to these rooms. I don’t want the children getting it.”
And there it was, yet again.
Elle taking care of somebody.
Since these somebodies were his children, Prentice smiled into her hair.
She fell asleep.
He listened to her breathing.
Against his will, the words she wrote in her journals slid into his mind.
His body pressed into hers.
Twenty years ago, Prentice walked out of a room.
A simple enough thing to do.
But in doing so, he’d left the woman he loved in hell.
He didn’t know it then.
But he knew it now, from what he’d learned through her and through Mikey.
He just didn’t understand it.
Until he read her journals.
Now he understood it.
And it killed him.
Chapter Sixteen
The Day Elle Austin Awoke
Fiona
The next day, Elle Austin awoke.
Fiona watched it.
And, when it happened, Fiona smiled.
* * * * *
Elle
Elle woke to the bed bouncing.
She had no time to think of the night before.
She had no time to think of one word of the life changing conversation she’d shared with Prentice.
She had no time to think even of the strange sense of disquiet she felt when Prentice led her from the balcony into his room, tenderly disrobed her, tugged one of his t-shirts over her head and put her to bed. It was a disquiet she couldn’t put her finger on but it felt like someone she cared about was in pain.
She had no time to think of any of this because Sally, who was on her knees at the foot of the bed, shouted, “Good morning!”
Prentice’s fingers unlaced from hers and they both got up on an elbow to look to the foot of the bed.
Then Prentice rolled to his back, his arm pushing under Elle as he did so, turning her so her front was to his side, his arm tight, fastening her there.
“Come here, baby,” Prentice murmured to his daughter, his voice deeper with residual sleep and Elle decided she liked his just woken up voice.
She liked it a lot.
Sally didn’t hesitate; she crawled up Prentice’s body.
Elle decided she liked that too, watching Sally crawl up her father’s long body.
She liked it a lot.
As Sally collapsed on Prentice’s chest, her eyes never left Elle and she announced, “Me and Jace have made you muffins!”
Fear shot through Elle at the very thought of Sally and Jason operating the oven.
“You what?” she whispered.
Prentice’s voice was a great deal more effective when he asked, low and vibrating, “I’m sorry?”
“We didn’t cook them.” They heard from across the room and all the inhabitants of the bed looked to the door.