Page 41 of Hold You Close
“Yeah.”
“Well . . . do you need anything?”
“No.”
I bite my lip. “Okay, honey. I put an empty laundry basket in your closet earlier. You can use that for your dirty clothes.”
“Thanks.”
I give it a few more seconds but can’t think of anything else to draw him out, and maybe he needs the alone time, anyway. “Goodnight. I
’m here if you need anything.”
“Night.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I head back downstairs to switch the girls’ laundry into the dryer, but there’s a load of Ian’s darks in there. Tossing it into a basket, I transfer the girls’ things into the dryer and turn it on. Then, since I am the type of person who cannot stand to leave clean clothes heaped in a basket, I figure I might as well fold Ian’s things.
I bring the basket out to the living room, sit on the couch, and turn on CSI. As I work, it occurs to me this evening offers a little glimpse of what my life might have been like had things not gone so wrong with Ian and me. We might be married now. We might live in a big house like this with a pool. We might have three amazing kids like the ones sleeping upstairs. I might be here folding laundry on a Thursday night while he’s at work. I cringe a little at the traditional gender roles implied in this scenario—I like being a woman with a career—but the feeling is actually kind of nice. Cozy. Reassuring. And who’s to say I wouldn’t be getting up in the morning and hurrying into the office once I got the kids on the bus? Women don’t have to choose these days, do they?
I’ve folded a few shirts and matched a couple pairs of socks when I realize the load also contains a few pairs of underwear—short boxer briefs in navy and black. My stomach flutters a little as my mind wanders deeper into the fantasy. Maybe when he gets home, I’m already asleep in bed, but he slips in behind me and curls his warm body around mine. Maybe I feel him start to get hard as his hands move over my breasts. Maybe I reach behind me and wrap my hand around his cock and he says to me, his voice deep and gravelly in the dark, “Want something?” Then he—
“Aunt London?”
I open my eyes, realizing Ruby has just caught me swooning over a pair of men’s underpants. Shoving them behind my back, I clear my throat. “What is it, sweetie?”
“I’m thirsty. Can I have some water?”
“Of course.” I jump up, and she follows me to the kitchen. My nipples are hard and tingling, and my underwear feels damp. I focus on filling a glass with water and shove the thought of Ian naked and hard and reaching for me out of my mind.
It’s not easy.
I give the glass to Ruby. “Here you go.”
After she’s taken a couple sips, she hands it back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. Come on, I’ll tuck you back in.” I hold her hand and take her back up to bed, and when I pass Christopher’s room on my way back down the hall, I notice the light is still on and I hear muffled sobs. My heart squeezes, and tears come to my eyes. These poor kids. I knock twice, softly.
The crying stops, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Chris, honey? Can I come in?”
“No!”
I try the handle anyway. Locked. “Please, Christopher. Let me in.”
“I’m fine. Go away.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. So if you won’t let me in, I’ll just sit right here and wait for you to come out. I’ll stay all night if I have to.” I plop down on the hall carpet, legs crisscrossed.
A moment later, he opens the door. His eyes are bloodshot, his nose red. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.” I scramble to my feet. “Can I come in?”
He sighs. “Fine.”
I follow him into his room and perch on the edge of the dresser while he sits on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Great.”
