Page 148 of Please Open Me
I let out a breath that might have been relief. “Hey, are you hungry? I’m making spaghetti.” I gestured toward the smoking saucepan.
“No.” She wiped again.
“Is it real not hungry, or ‘you don’t want my smoked-onion spaghetti’ not hungry?”
She didn’t answer. She burrowed back into me. I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I just ate. I’m not hungry,” she said.
Right. My voice slowed. My gaze drifted down and stopped.
Mattie’s worn AC/DC shirt swallowed Mason like it should have. Soft with wear, probably underwashed, it should’ve engulfed her. Instead, the fabric draped over the gentle curve of her belly.
Ten weeks. That’s what Cameron said.
I should have ignored it. Cameron told me to move on. But I couldn’t. As much as I didn’t want to push Mason away, I needed to claim this moment. If the Sons of Christ were truly done with me, I was finally getting the things I hadn’t known I needed.
Without thinking, my hand went to her belly. It was firmer than I expected.
Mason froze, eyes wide, breath arrested. I realized how weird that must have been. Maybe Cameron had been right sometimes. We stared at each other for three heartbeats, neither of us moving.
Never had I been more grateful for Lucian than when he stumbled into the kitchen at that moment. My lips had parted to say something inexcusably awkward.
Mason’s head turned toward him before he could make a sound, like she could sense him by the shift in the air. Her breath hitched; she clung to me as if seeking refuge from the man who had once been her husband in every sense that mattered.
Lucian’s anger from earlier had softened into something that looked like resignation. He took a step forward, and Mason instinctively hid behind me as she had the first night in Hartwood. His face softened and, for a second, I wondered if he was sorry for what he’d done, or only sorry he’d finally been called to account.
“Mason, I need your help,” he whispered, hand extended.
Bold of him to assume I’d let him touch her. “What’s up? I can help you,” I offered instead.
He looked at the floor and shook his head. “Seb, you’d just make it worse.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “My hair is a fucking knotted and gross. Sophia tried to help, but she’s pissed at me from earlier and—”
“And you think Mason’s not pissed at you?” I challenged. “You called her a terrible mother for protecting your kids from the fact their dad is a lowlife addict.”
Mason didn’t speak.
“No, I don’t think Mason’s mad at me,” Lucian said, annoyed I’d suggest it. “We’re married. Until death do us part. That means we work on things. If she hadn’t had such high expectations of me, I wouldn’t have relapsed, and I wouldn’t be trying to quit opioids cold turkey–which could kill me, by the way.”
Mason flinched. Her grip on my arm was the only thing that stopped me from clocking Lucian.
“I hate when people touch my hair, and I trust her not to make it worse,” he continued. “And I don’t like that you’re using problems you caused as a way to get closer to her.”
“It’s not about getting close to Mason. It’s about not feeling like I’m crawling out of my skin every second. You don’t get it, Seb. You couldn’t get it.”
“Oh, stop the fucking pity party. No one caused this other than you.” Heat rose in my chest. “You think Mason owes you comfort after everything? After what you said today?”
“I didn’t mean it!” His voice broke, raw and ugly. “I’m dope sick and angry and—God, I hate myself enough without you piling it on.” He hunched, and his gaze drifted back to Mason. “Please, Kitten. Just help me.”
“Absolutely fucking not. And if you so much as raise your voice to her in my house again, I won’t hesitate to put you on the street. Are we clear?” I snapped.
My voice carried through the kitchen. I paused, surprised by its volume. Thankfully, Cameron hadn’t returned with the kids; despite everything, every adult in our orbit agreed on one rule: the children would not be raised in a house of hate. No yelling, no arguing, absolutely no stabbing their dad, tempting as that might be.
“Fine.” The word tasted metallic; I’d bitten my cheek hard enough to draw blood.
Lucian blinked, and whatever stiffness had been between us loosened just enough.
“Your hair’s bothering you? I’ll help,” I said.
