Chace Keaton stared down at Faye Goodknight, her head against the pillows of her bed, her body under his and he wondered how in the f**k six years of misery led him to all the promise that was her.
He’d wanted her for years not having any f**king clue how much of her there was to get, how deep it ran or how sweet it was.
“Now,” she went on, taking him out of his thoughts, “I need to clean up and get some sleep. Malachi is getting sorted tomorrow and I need to be on my game. You can take from that I’m not kicking your ass out. I’ll tell you now, I do have a temper so that doesn’t mean you won’t one day be sleeping on the couch. I know this because Dad did this on occasion and I am a lot like my Mom. But your behind will never be out. And you can take from that that I’m falling for you too. But you know that since you know I already did it thirteen years ago. I’m just glad to know now I picked really, fraking well.”
His heart pounding in his chest which got tight, his hands moved swiftly, framing her face, holding it steady and his voice was thick when he whispered, “Do not say that shit unless you mean it.”
Her hands moved to frame his face too and she whispered back, “I wouldn’t. You know it. I held out for a hero and I don’t give a frak if you don’t think you’re one. I know you are and even if you weren’t one to the whole town, you’re one to me and you can take that to the fraking bank.”
Fuck.
Cute.
Sweet.
His.
That constriction in his chest relaxed and when he asked, “Take it to the bank?” his voice was suddenly light and her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t tease me when I’m being serious and we’re talking deep.”
“Sorry, baby, you just said I could take something to the bank. No one says shit like that except cops in 70’s cop shows. You talk like that I have to give you shit. Got no other choice.”
She started glaring and then she started bossing.
“Get off me. I’m leaking and I don’t like to sleep in a wet spot.”
“When do you ever have to sleep in a wet spot?” he shot back.
“Well… never,” she answered. “But I don’t want to start.”
Cute.
Sweet.
His.
Christ.
He dipped his mouth and touched hers.
When he lifted away, he whispered, “All right, clean up.”
She shifted under him, muttering, “Fine.”
But as she moved, his arm circled her waist, detaining her, and her eyes came back to his.
“I know what you think,” he started to warn gently. “I know why you think it but you made a decision just now so when you get it all from me, darlin’, and you decide to run, you gotta know I’m not letting go.”
“Fine by me,” she replied immediately, lifted up, brushed her bubblegum lips against his then rolled out from under him.
Her short, chocolate brown satin nightie glided down to settle over her ass as she got out of bed and moved toward the bathroom. Chace watched it then watched it move under the fabric until she disappeared.
Then he rolled to his back, her toy rolled into him so he tagged it and replaced it in her nightstand. After, he again settled on his back but this time he lifted his hands and covered his face, pressing the pads of his fingers into his forehead and digging deep.
He did this hoping with everything he was that Faye didn’t lie.
He did this hoping what she read in him was true. Not that he was who she thought he was because he knew he wasn’t.
But that she could take the dark he had inside him without breaking free to run to the light, leaving him behind in black.
He dropped his hands when he sensed her coming back and watched her walk across the room and turn out the light before she climbed in bed.
The instant the covers were over her, he reached to her and pulled her into his arms, face to face.
She hooked a leg over his hip and pressed deep.
“Faye?” he called.
“Yeah,” she answered quietly.
“No way in hell no matter how pissed you get I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”
“We’ll see,” she replied, still quiet.
“We won’t. We work it out before we sleep or you suck it up. You do not sleep without me.” He paused then finished, “Ever.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, pressing closer.
This meant she was done with the conversation.
It also meant she was giving in.
Then again, she always did when it was important.
He pulled her even closer knowing one thing.
He wasn’t falling anymore for Faye Goodknight.
He wasn’t halfway there.
He was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Potatoes
I locked up the library and moved to the steps, on my way home.
It was Wednesday. It had been a week and a day since they released Malachi from the hospital.
As seemed to be the case since Chace came into my life, this time had not been uneventful. Not even a little bit. It had been eventful and busy.
But surprisingly, Malachi settled in with Mom and Dad relatively well. He had some issues with Dad and the first night I left, he got agitated, very much so, so I didn’t want to leave. But Chace and Dad took me aside and told me something I knew logically but didn’t like all that much. This being that I was doing him no favors hovering when he had to get used to his surroundings. So I left with Chace. And I didn’t like that either.
Chace took me home, poured me wine and he stretched out on my couch and watched some game. As he did this, his lips were tipped up because I was pacing and fretting, something he thought was funny, something I did not. Then I called my parents an hour after we walked through my door only to have Dad tell me Mom was reading Malachi The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and all was fine.
It took two days for Malachi to settle with Dad.
It would be the weekend before he let Chace in.
This was on Saturday when Mom and Dad were at Liza and Boyd’s for Jarot’s official ninth birthday party. It was decided it was too soon to introduce Malachi to Jarot and Robbie, much less a bunch of other kids, so Mom and Dad, Chace and I were taking turns looking after Malachi and going to Jarot’s party.
I had another volunteer look after the library for me in the afternoon and Chace and I were taking the first shift. They were leaving the party early and we were going later.
By this time, the bruising around Malachi’s face was gone, he was getting around on his leg very well and the bandages were off his hands because Dad decreed, “They need air.” That didn’t mean Mom didn’t gunk them up with Neosporin three times a day. They were healing really well and within a couple of days he had no problems holding the Kindle Dad bought him even with one arm in a sling.