Page 64 of The Hockey Alpha's Indebted Mate
“Bedtime is shower, change into pajamas, and a bedtime story,” I explain.
“Oh.” She looks back at Ethan. “I don’t mind.”
“Go off then.” I wave at them. “I’ll clean up here.”
She slides off the stool. “Come on, Ethan.”
His face transforms completely. He gets down from his chair and grabs her hand and starts talking before they’ve even left the kitchen, something about how many stories she has to read and a specific one about a bear, and I hear her say she doesn’t know that one, and he says, with enormous authority, “I’ll tell it to you,” like she’s the one who needs to be read to.
I stand in the kitchen after they’ve gone.
The house sounds different. Full in a way it usually isn’t.
I put the containers away and wipe the sauce rings off the counter. By the time I’m done washing the dishes, an hour has passed, and there’s silence in the house. Even my sharp hearing can’t catch anything.
Wiping my hands, I head upstairs.
The door to Ethan’s room is open just enough that the nightlight spills into the hallway in a thin line. I push it a little wider and stop. Ethan is on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, his worn bear jammed under his chin. He’s under his blanket, fast asleep.
Miranda is beside him, head tilted toward the pillow, one arm curved loose around my son’s shoulders. She’s fast asleep. The nightlight makes the room softer than it is. I know that. Butthe thing sitting behind my ribs right now has nothing to do with the light.
Ethan makes a small sound and presses farther into her arm. She doesn’t stir.
My lips curve softly. As much as I don’t mind the two of them sleeping together like this, I know Miranda will be more comfortable on a bigger bed.
Approaching them, I ease Ethan’s arm from around her waist, slide one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, and lift.
She weighs next to nothing, and it bothers me.
I’m halfway down the hallway when she stirs. I feel it before she speaks, the change in the weight of her, the way she goes from slack to present all at once.
“What—” Her head comes up, her eyes find me, and her whole body tightens. “Put me down.”
“Guest room’s at the end of the hall.”
“Grayson.” I can see the hint of panic in her eyes. Not fear but flustered panic. “Put me down right now.”
“You’re going to wake Ethan if you keep shouting at me,” I remind her.
That stops her. She goes still in my arms. Her hand is pressed flat against my chest, and I am very aware of the heat of it through my shirt. I set her down at the guest room door. She steps back the moment her feet touch the floor, putting space between us, smoothing her dress.
Without Ethan in the room between us, the hallway feels smaller than it is.
She looks at the guest room door and then back at me. Neither of us says anything for a beat too long.
“I could use some air,” I mutter, scratching the back of my neck.
She glances toward the stairs. “Fresh air sounds good.”
I grab two beers from the kitchen, one that is a safe human brand and one that only my kind can drink. She’s already outside when I push through the back door, standing in the yard with her arms folded loosely, looking at the reclining lawn chairs. The moon is up, and the tree line at the back of the property is silver-edged. She hears me and turns.
“You sit out here a lot?”
I nod. “I don’t like the idea of apartments or homes inside the city. Too cramped and the air is never clean.”
I hand her the beer. She takes it with a wan smile. “Living out here seems better anyway. I don’t like the hustle bustle that much anymore.”
“Anymore?” I sip my beer before shooting her a look.
