Page 90 of Homebound

She nibbles her bottom lip, mulling something over as she looks at the old historic marker plaque hanging on the wallpaper. She’s always had a thing for historic landmarks and pulls us over anytime she sees one on the highway.

This sign says the rustic coffee shop was the filming spot for some seventies horror chainsaw movie. I’m not sure that’s the vibe people want while sipping their morning coffee, but to each their own.

“How’s Wyatt feel about Boone being back?” she finally asks.

I shrug, the motion causing his Guardians sweatshirt to slide down my shoulder. He gave it to me this morning, and it smells like his cologne, so I can’t stop sniffing the fabric. “I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. Boone and I are done. He might as well be an invisible part of my past.”

“You really think he’ll be okay with it?” she prods.

“Yeah, Wyatt’s not the jealous type anyway, and I don’t want Boone. I want Wyatt and Vi. They’re my people now.”

It’s the first time I’ve spoken the truth, and it feels so right. There’s still that gut-wrenching dread that something’s going to go wrong, but I’m trying to be more like him and not let those worries get to me.

“I bet he’s gonna hate it when he finds out Boone’s back,” she says.

I wave a hand, ignoring the stone of unease that just dropped in my stomach. “He’ll be fine. They’re both gentlemen, so I’m sure they’ll be civil to each other.”

“Sure,” she agrees warily. “As civil as cavemen.”

36

DRUNK TODDLER

WYATT

Ican’t keep my hands off Dakota for the next week as she prepares for the rodeo. We have sex everywhere.

My bed. Her bed. The kitchen counter. We almost get caught by the cops when we fool around in my truck like two high schoolers drunk in love.

We can’t get enough of each other.

But on Wednesday, I wake up to an empty bed and step out into the kitchen to find Vienna fed, changed, and playing in her playpen while Dakota flips banana pancakes and the laundry machine whirs.

She’s not the domestic type, but I’m not surprised either. When she feels like her life is spiraling out of control, she tries to control the things within her power.

I can’t decide what I like more—her in my arms or her with my daughter. She’s dressed in her workout gear, biker shorts and a black bra, ready for our daily gym session because she’s the most determined woman I’ve met.

I wrap my arms around her from behind. “Morning. Why’s the TV off? You normally like having the background noise.”

She shrugs. “Stella told me you were pretty strict about screen time with Vi, so I’ve been trying to keep it off.”

That makes me hold her tighter, and I genuinely wonder how I’m ever going to let her go. I’m beginning to think I need to put in for a transfer to Austin, but I’m worried about telling Cruz.

I brush off a tiny curl on her forehead, still worried about how she’s been doing since Nash’s fall. “How’re you feeling? Are you ready for the rodeo this weekend? I got a babysitter, so my parents and I can come watch you. We’ll all be there.”

She stirs the pancake batter harder, faster. “I’m ready. I just have to pick myself up and keep going, like always. I can’t let the highs go to my head just like I can’t let the lows bring me down.”

And that’s exactly what she does.

Every day leading up to Tejas, we’re in the gym, squatting, lunging, lifting. She won’t stop, because if there’s one thing about Dakota, she will always, always pick herself back up no matter how far she falls. She acknowledges her fear, but it’s never a roadblock. It’s the kind of woman I want my daughter to be one day.

She’s so focused during our daily workout sessions, and meanwhile, I can’t keep my hands, eyes, or lips off her. Especially now that I know what it feels like to be inside her. It’s better than I even imagined, and I imagined it a hell of a lot.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, I would rather do than kiss her all day, but I’m trying to rein in the urge so I don’t play my entire hand before she shows her cards.

At the gym, I pretend like my throat isn’t parched, watching her squat in the tiniest shorts that should really only be considered scraps of fabric. I can barely get a word out. When I tell her to add more weight it comes out sounding like take your clothes off.

And now, as I FaceTime Cruz, I’m getting half hard looking at her discarded pink panties on the bathroom tile, so it’s a good thing he can only see me from the chest up.