Page 77 of Call You Mine
It’s me wanting to stand beside him and hold it together.
Because I know he’d do the same for me—that I wouldn’t even have to ask him to.
And that scares me more than I expected.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I whisper, my hands finding the sides of his face, holding his gaze. “Just know that you can.”
He shuts his eyes, leaning his head forward until it rests against my shoulder, his lips against my skin, and I let him.
We stand there until the water begins to run cold, holding him tightly against me, being the one who helps him stand upright, his body relaxing against mine.
“He told me a lot of things I needed to hear but wasn’t ready to,” Anderson says against my skin before lifting his head up, reaching behind him to turn the water off.
I step out of his hold, opening the glass door enough to reach out and grab our towels hanging just outside on the two hooks I bought and installed the day after I moved in. Closing the door quickly to keep as much of the steam—and this moment—in, I wordlessly hand him his towel before swinging mine around my shoulders. “What sort of things?” I ask quietly.
He wraps his towel around his waist, leaving his chest on full display. Even in the low light of the shower, I can see the droplets of water slowly sliding down his skin, causing goosebumps to form. I instantly get the obnoxious, conflicting urge to lick each drop of water off him and grab him another towel to dry him off and keep him warm at the same time.
“Remember how I told you that we didn’t have to worry about my family when we told them about us getting married?” Anderson says.
I nod, my heart stuttering at his lack of the word “fake”, but the thought instantly makes me want to slap myself across the face. “I remember. You said that telling them would just make them realize they didn’t know you were in a relationship because they didn’t remember or didn’t ask.”
Protectiveness lights inside me like a match, misplacedand unnecessary, yet strong with the power to get a whole lot bigger if I give in to it.
He lets out an exhale. “Well, that’s been the case for most of my life. My uncle—Chief Sanders—heard from Jack that we are getting married. I guess Jack figured he knew, but I didn’t tell him. My mom didn’t either, which is what he wanted to talk about.”
“Is he your mom’s brother?” I ask as I wrap my towel around my body, holding it at my chest.
Anderson nods, running a hand through his wet hair. “Apparently, he had talked to her not too long ago, and he was shocked she didn’t say anything about our engagement, but hadtonsto say about what my brothers were up to.”
I knew Anderson had younger brothers—I’ve seen the pictures he has in the house, and he’s mentioned them before. He talks about them the same way I talk about my sisters—with love and adoration, but also more like a parent than like a sibling.
It’s a tiny detail most wouldn’t even notice.
But as an eldest child, it’s hard to miss.
“She went on about all the exciting things going on in their lives, but said nothing about mine. And when I tried to defend her, he didn’t let me,” he explains, letting out a sigh. “He made me realize that I took on taking care of my brothers because I thought I was helping her after my dad died. But then it became this expectation, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”
I know exactly what he means.
“Anderson, if I could tell you that you don’t have to and have that be the end of it, I would, but I know it’s not that easy.”
“I wish it was,” he says, letting his head fall back, pushing his palms into his eyes. “For my brothers, it would be,” he murmurs as his hands slide down his face.
Reaching for his arm, I pull his focus back to me. “Youtook on a parental role, one you didn’t have to take on but felt like you did.” His tired gaze finds mine, and I know he needs sleep, so I leave him with what my therapist tells me. “It’s a hard habit to break, especially after years of putting pressure on yourself and the toll stress like that takes.”
The words flow easily, recited from memory almost word-for-word.
His lips twitch. “It’s good advice.” His hand finds mine, interlacing our fingers. “You sound like you speak from experience.” He flashes a knowing smile, but it looks like it takes the last bit of his energy for it to reach his eyes.
It’s advice I wish I could take myself.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
“And you thought I was just a pretty face,” I tease, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go, suddenly uncomfortable with all of this, needing to find that distance that makes me feel safe and in control.
The familiar prickling begins in my fingertips. The need to count my breaths, count my palms opening and closing, count the drops of water slowly dripping from the showerhead.
Count with me, Ava. The paramedics will be there any minute, okay? Just focus on your breathing. Ready? Breathe in. Good, that’s one. Breathe out. Good, that’s another one. Keep going. Two, three, four…
