That’s an amazing feat for a man like my dad to admit. “I’ve spent twenty years thinking you hated me. Thinking I was a mistake. I blew up my friend’s life trying to bring Adriane back because I thought that would earn your love.”
“You don’t have to earn anything. You have my love. I’m going to earn yours. Maybe one day your forgiveness.” He hugs me, and it feels surreal. A father hugging his daughter in love, not obligation. “I hope one day you’ll be proud to call me Dad. Until that day, and every day after, I’ll work to be that man.”
Something in my chest breaks.
It isn’t a pain.
It’s a release.
A healing.
Forgiveness.
Not one hundred percent, but I can breathe.
Sobs commence. Snot wielding, mascara running wails. He pulls me tighter.
He holds me closer.
He whispers every word I’ve craved.
It weaves its way inside and mends me.
“I love you.” And I do. Everything won’t be fixed in an hour session and cleansing confessions. It did lay a foundation we can build from, though. It cemented a base to work for us to continue. A work in progress.
His lips press the top of my head, and his voice croaks. “I love you so much, Emberlee. So much. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, baby.”
I hated the number fifteen until today.
He spoke fifteen words to me last year.
He healed us with fifteen words today.
The sound of her sobs has me opening a door I have no right to barge through. Except she’s mine and if she’s in pain, my arms should surround her, ease her pain, and fucking kill whoever caused her tears. I’m floored with what I see.
General Winchester kneeling— cradling his daughter. Waterworks streaming down his face, his hands gripping her, tightening his embrace as each howl wracks her body. Her body disengages from his grasp, and she’s in my arms like it’s the most natural place to be . . . and it is. It’s her rightful place. Burrowing in my chest and forcing my body back with the force of her pain. “I’ve got you, Embe.” I coo as I lift her up and pull her close. I stride from the room, wanting as much distance separating her and whatever caused this.
“Brody, please take care of her.” Her dad’s voice wavers.
I nod. I’ll take care of her. Treasure the gift in my arms— the one he discarded for so many years. “Hold tight, babe.” I put her in the car and buckle her in. She hasn’t said one word, and I don’t think she can speak through the cries. Brushing her hair off her face, wiping my hands furiously to erase the agony spilling from her eyes and staining her face. My chest is seizing, my body rigid, and if she wasn’t the most important person in my life, I’d march my ass back inside and lay her dad out.
“I-I-I’m s-s-so-sor-sorry.” Her hiccups and broken breath are killing me.
“Shhh. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve got you.” She drops her head to the side and the noises coming from her soften. “I’m gonna get you home.” I hurry to the driver’s seat and head in the direction of my apartment.
Cradling her sleeping form, I try to be as gentle as possible as I carry her inside and settle her in my bed. I strip down and remove her clothes. Pulling her snug to my body, I caress and soothe her as she sleeps.
Monumental.
The scene at her doctor was just that. It doesn’t escape my notice that she flew to me. I hadn’t said a word, and she knew I was there. Her body drawn to my comfort, the safety I’ll forever afford her. Next time she drives me fucking crazy, I’ll hold to that memory and remind myself— and her— where she belongs. Closing my eyes, I pull her a tad closer and drift off inhaling her scent, feeling her skin beneath my touch . . . the rhythm of our hearts in sync.
Through the catastrophe of today, came splendor. Each victory we achieve is fought with broken roads, marred paths, sharp cliffs. Each journey we take is to force us to embark on the unknown and revel in the outcome. We’ve had some hard fought battles, wars with each other and ourselves. Surrendering our weapons and opening up to defeat makes success that much sweeter.
My lips settle against her forehead, “Love you,” I whisper, vowing she will hear that each night before succumbing to the darkness. Her fingers dig in my chest, and she pulls her body half over mine.
Her body squirms next to mine, and I know she’s waking. I let her have a few minutes to stretch and get her bearings. Staring at her face, I hate the puffiness and redness the day blemished her with, but she’s still the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. “Morning, baby.” I brush my hands down her back.
She rolls and massages her temples. I remove her hands and settle her between my legs, leaning back against my chest so I can take over easing the tension she’s trying to rid herself of. My fingers circle her forehead, applying light pressure, and I’m rewarded with a moan. “Thank you.” She rolls her back to look up at me.
“For what?” I kiss her nose and watch as her face lights up, gracing me with her smile. The one with dimples, the one that means she’s going to be okay.
“Taking care of me.” She sounds shocked.
Picking her up and turning her so she’s facing me, I say, “Hey. Always. I wouldn’t want you anywhere else. Want to tell me what the hell happened?”
“Yeah. I would. After coffee.” She kisses my lips and rolls off me. “I’m waiting.” She smirks at me.
I’m going to invest in one of those smart machines. I can start the coffee maker with my phone from the bedroom. “You realize it’s like two in the morning?”
She shrugs. “But we’ve been asleep for seven hours.”
“Speak for yourself.” Her face falls.
“I’m sorry. Did I keep you up?” Too soon to joke with her. I kick myself because she’s had a rough day.
“Nope. I slept soundly with you next to me.” I grab her hand.
She tugs it back. “I’ll start the coffee.” She hurries from the bed, and I jump up to follow her.
“Embe, wait.” She halts, but her back is ramrod stiff, and she doesn’t turn. “What’s wrong?” I circle my arms and pull her back to me.
Her hands swipe at her face, and I spin her. Her fucking tears are going to be the death of me. “I’m just emotional. Then it seemed like I assumed you’d wait on me. You’ve done enough.” She pulls to escape, and I grip tighter.
“Hey. I’ll get the coffee. Jump in the shower and you’ll feel better. You’re wrong. I haven’t done anything.”
“You have.” I put my lips over hers to shush her protests.
“Shower. The coffee will be ready.” I wink and push her towards the bathroom.
The water shuts off in time with the coffee finishing brewing. I search for the cup I bought just for her. Filling it, I place it at the bar for her to have. I see her bare feet, freshly scrubbed face, hair thrown in a braid— wearing my fucking shirt and my mouth is dry. “Is that for me?” She points to the cup—the oversized thirty-two ounce travel mug I had made for her.
“Yep.” I kiss her fingers and lead her to the stool. She picks it up and drinks— after she’s chugged half, she inspects the cup. A bull with ‘I may be stubborn but I’m worth it’ decorates the mug.
She smirks. “I totally am.” Her chuckle has me picking her up, pressing her tightly to my body. “You’re too good to me.”
“Not even kind of, babe. Just doing what feels right. Grab your coffee and let’s sit in the living room.” I wait for her to settle, and I sit down next to her, pulling her to my lap so I can insulate her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She’s pensive and settles back into me. I listen as she explains how everything transpired, her beliefs, the truth, and the struggle she’s having trying to reconcile everything. “So, I don’t know where to go from here.”
I thump her chest. “What does this tell you?”
“Forgive. Love him.” She taps her head. “This tells me to be wary. It’s trained to believe one thing for so long,
it’s kind of hard to forget it all.”
“I think you find a balance of the two.” Her nose scrunches. “You give him a chance. Act like it’s bases loaded, two outs, and your pitch hitter is up to bat. Do you walk him or take a chance?”
She groans. “Holy fuck. You’ve been corrupted. Baseball terms?” She pinches my leg.
“Hey, I’m surrounded by it. Back to my scholarly advice.” She giggles. “Don’t go in blind. Keep your guard up but halfway. Let him try to mend this. You know what you can take, what your limits will be. He fucks up, you know you did all you could.” I hug her. “If you don’t, you’ll continue to have doubts. One way or another you’ll have unanswered questions. Isn’t it worth it to see if the answer is in your favor?”
“You’re kind of smart.” She winks.
“I’m also hard having you draped all over me this morning.” I’m teasing her but serious at the same time.
“We can’t have that.” She sits up and takes my hand. “Bed or couch?”
“What happened to your insistence on coffee?” I’m an idiot. Who the fuck cares about her coffee. I’ll be her morning wake-up jolt. “Bed. I want you spread wide for me to feast on.”
Light glides of hands. Whisper kisses. Soft words. Our joining is slow and promising. “I love you.” Those words floating from her lips undo me. I piston balls deep in her and sigh my own promise of devotion.
“Breck! Embe! Let’s go.” Geez. Since my sister arrived a few weeks ago, those two are locked in a room for hours on end every day. We’re going to be late for Saylor and Deacon’s wedding, and I’ve been hollering for twenty minutes. “Emberlee, I’ll spank your ass if you make us late. Breck, I’ll make you move into the dorms.” My threats are hollow— and they fucking know it.
“Hold your horses dick smack.” Brecklynn’s vocabulary has become quite creative since hanging with all the girls. Not sure how much influence the guys have been with her word choices, but as I’ve been told— get over it.
“You look beautiful.” So much so I want to lock her in a basement. Her hair is twisted up, I can tell Emberlee did her make-up, and her dress could stand to grow a few inches. Or yards. I’m better with the second option. “You gonna wear pants?” She rolls her eyes, another Emberlee trait, and smacks me as she walks by.
I can’t blame her personality on my girl. Brecklynn’s always had her own flair. Her own special aura. She doesn’t conform, or try to fit in—she demands her settings fit in to her agenda. I used to love it, until I’m faced with it everyday, mixed with the fact she’s an adult . . . as she reminds me all the fucking time.
My jaw hits the floor. Or my neck. Emberlee saunters from the door in a shimmery silver dress, too short for her to wear if she was going somewhere by herself, but she’s with me, so I’ll let it slide. One shoulder bare, begging for my lips, and hugs her tiny frame. A dishtowel hits me in the face, and Brecklynn is laughing. “For the drool. You’re puddling.” She rolls her eyes. “Either we need sound proof walls, or I need my own apartment. Tonight’s forecast looks like loud, with a lot of banging.”
“Dorms, Breck,” I warn.
“Okay. I can sneak boys in without having to muzzle them as I go down—“ I cover her mouth.
She’s called my bluff and won this hand. “Enough,” I growl at her. My feet carry me to Emberlee’s side. “You’re gorgeous.” That compliment isn’t enough to embody what she is. Sultry. Innocent. Beauty. Sin. So many components rolled into one— it’s uniquely Emberlee.
“Ready?” She is giggling at Brecklynn’s and my antics. “Do I need to separate you guys, or can you behave in public?”
“I’ll follow in my car.” I raise my eyebrows at my sister. “Please— you’ll be ready to come home after the ceremony to fuck her silly, and I’ll either be stuck finding a ride or leaving early.”
“You’re awfully interested in my sex life. And I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself,” I remind her.
“It’s because your sex life is on display, with fucking surround sound, every night. Don’t worry, when I get my own sex life, I won’t focus too much on yours.” She purses her lips and snaps her fingers. “I know we can have a scream-off one night. See who is the loudest.” She tests my patience every damn moment she’s awake.
Emberlee has to sit down because she’s doubled over in laughter and can’t support herself. To say she instigates it would be irony. Most of the time she’s in the mix. Tonight she’s excited and anxious. I’ve monopolized a lot of her time, but she’s still invested in her crew. We’ve done weekly dinner nights over there, and every couple weeks they have girls’ night, which Brecklynn has been included in. I helped the guys move Saylor in with Deacon last week, so it’s just Emberlee and Avery in the house— most of the time just Avery, and my girl is starting to balk at that. She wants me to stay at her house some, but logistics are . . . I don’t want to leave Brecklynn. It’s complicated and weird for me to have my sister come for a sleepover at my girlfriend’s house, so I coerce her— with my dick— to stay here.
“You think Avery would mind company tonight?” Breck asks her.
“She’d be happy for it. I’ll call her in the car.” I wink. “We tore up the house getting Saylor ready, so be warned. It’s a disaster area.”
“Saylor was okay leaving it a mess?’ Brecklynn asks, knowing Saylor’s penchant for neatness.
“Oh, she flipped until we set all the clocks ahead two hours, and she had to rush to get to the church for pictures.” I shake my head.
“Speaking of getting to the church. You’ve got an aisle to walk down.” I kiss her palm. “Ready?”
“So much. I’m happy for them and lucky they allowed me to be a part of it.”
“Baby, we’re all lucky we’re a part of each other’s lives. Let’s get going.” I pat her ass and push her along.
“Yes, sir.” She winks, throwing a saucy glare over her shoulder. In turn, I’m rock hard.
Surreal.
If you asked me eight months ago if I’d be standing up for Saylor as she married Deacon, I would have found it comical. But, here I am. Watching them exchange vows, promising a future together that I’m positive they’ll fulfill.
Julie’s begging Mason for lollipops, arguments— inappropriateness is all that is taking place with the guys, and I couldn’t be happier. This is our life. One we’ve carved for ourselves. Each one of us a misfit in our own way but we’ve banded together, some since birth, some by love.
It makes us a family.
I glance at my parents sitting in the pews and a pang of longing comes over me. I’m glad they survived whatever they went through, but at what cost? Brody works double-time creating the perfect illusion of safety for me, but I still have lingering doubts. Some I keep to myself, some I share.
Saylor is sprouting some baseball analogies in her vows, and it’s cheesy. But it is her. She’s moved mountains to stand by him, and he’s proven his love in every way . . . the biggest is his trust in her with Julie. Ideally, it isn’t what any of us planned in life. Kids your senior year of high school. Honorary aunts and uncles, all chipping in to make our lives mesh and schedules seamless. This scenario shows our character and devotion to one another. We aren’t the ones who write B.F.F. because it looks cool or it fits us that week; we are best friends forever, and it shows in our interactions, our love, and our fight to get through this life—together. We pick up stragglers who become part of our core group. An entity.
“I now pronounce you man and wife, kiss your bride, Mr. Douglas.” He’s quick to follow that suggestion to the cheering and rude comments— Mason— of our friends.
Finding them at the reception is easy. Saylor chose a small intimate affair instead of one for Page Six. “Congrats, guys. Love you.” I hug them both, and I haven’t witnessed two people made for each other like they are.
“Thanks.” Saylor hugs me back.
“Love you, Lee Lee.” Deacon tickles my sides and drops a kiss on my forehead. Dancing
is beginning, and Brody finds me. Holding me close, we stand at the edge watching the traditional dances take place. Father and Bride, Mother and Groom. Bride and Groom. It comes time for attendants, and I’m paired with Mason. Brody is slow to let me go, and I sigh at his caveman tendencies. It isn’t as endearing as my vagina thinks.
“You happy?” He’s so quick to question Brody and me. But in fairness, he dealt with the brunt of my issues.
“Yeah. I am.” I hug him. “We still doing dinner next week?” It’s time to tell my friends what pushed me over the edge. I’m not offering excuses or explanations for what I did— but I’ve held this one piece of the puzzle back.
“As long as you aren’t telling us you’re getting married next.” He shocks me.
“Mason?” His lips curl.
“Not because I’m in love with you like that. Gross. But, fuck; we’ve had enough changes. Let’s let things ride for a bit.” I punch him in the chest.
“I’m not gross.”
“Nah, you aren’t. So I was shocked Brecklynn is Brody’s sister.” I stop dancing and glare at him.
“Don’t do it.” He smirks.
“Easy killer. I met her during her tour.” Interesting. Neither has mentioned it.
“Really?” God, please tell me they didn’t hook up. Brody will kill him.
“Yeah. Some shit Coach made us do. Well, not Deacon because apparently he’s responsible.” He rolls his eyes in fun.
“Taking care of a kid tends to do that,” I tease.
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