“I don’t want you to be unbiased, Moira. We’re sleeping together, for fuck’s sake. We’re in a relationship—maybe a weird one, but a fucking relationship, nonetheless. You should definitely have a preference in this scenario.”
She can see that I’m getting agitated, so she curls closer and runs her fingers tenderly through my hair, her features softening. It’s exactly the right thing to do. I can’t attack her if she’s being soft; I’ll feel like a fucking monster.
Ashley always rose to the occasion. The more agitated I got, the more agitated she got until we combusted.
Moira leans in and kisses her way along my jawline. “I do, Griff. My preference is your happiness. If that’s with me and Sebastian, wonderful. If it isn’t, I would never guide you away from it just because I want you. That wouldn’t be fair. I would understand if you wanted a person all to yourself. I wouldn’t like it,” she adds, holding my gaze. “But I would get it. That’s a natural thing to want.”
“I don’t, though. I want you.”
She smiles softly. “You have me.”
I probably shouldn’t tell her this, but it spills out of my mouth anyhow. “I can’t help feeling like you’re gonna slip away from me. Like Seb’s gonna take you back.”
“He won’t,” she assures me. “I love having both of you. He loves sharing me with you. We are all happy, Griff. Stop looking for reasons not to be.”
“I’m afraid of losing you, Moira. I can’t help it.”
She sighs, her blue eyes clouding over. I can see that she’s not sure how to reassure me, and to be honest, I’m not sure either. I don’t think she can. I think it’s something that’ll only go away in time.
I hope it goes away in time.
“You’re not going to lose me, Griff,” she promises, grabbing my hand and twining our fingers together. “We’re in this thing now. All three of us.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. Maybe it should.
Moira’s tone softens, and I get the feeling she’s unsure about what she’s going to say. “I think maybe with your personal history, with your childhood and the fact that you’ve sort of been abandoned before, maybe that’s why you worry about this. I’m glad we’re talking about it, but I’m not sure you feel this way for any external reason. I don’t think we’ve given you any reason to worry about this. Sebastian is clearly trying to give you what you need. I certainly am. I’m sorry you can’t trust it yet. You should know by now that I’m reliable. It’s one of the things Sebastian loves about me. I’m no quitter. He’s not always easy, either. He has some rough edges and personal issues, too.”
Yeah, maybe he does, but he’d never bleed them all over her this way. Seb likes to come off strong at all times, and this shit here… this is not that.
I’m gonna scare her off with my irrational bullshit. It won’t even be Seb’s fault, it’ll be mine.
“Maybe it’s just because all of this is new,” she suggests. “Maybe you just need some time to get used to it. Then you’ll feel stable.”
“Maybe,” I murmur.
Moira brings her other hand up and clasps both of them around mine. “I’m yours, Griff. You wanted me and you got me. Stop waiting for the sky to fall. It’s not going to. Let yourself enjoy this—not because it’s going anywhere, but because that’s a nice way to live life. Don’t worry about it so much, okay? There’s nothing to worry about.”
I nod, but I’m not completely convinced.
She must be able to see that. Her expression drifts toward the contemplative and she says, “You need to spend some time with Sebastian. He’ll straighten you out.”
At that, I have to smile. “That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it?”
She smiles, like I’ve caught her. “Hey, if I’m stumped, I turn to him. You two made it through life together for years without me, so he must have figured out some way to convince you he wasn’t going anywhere.”
I’m just about to respond when we’re interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I frown and Moira’s eyes widen.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask her.
Now she’s frowning, yanking back the blanket and climbing out of bed. “No.”
I gather up my clothes and get them back on before she can. She’s flustered, running around looking for her shirt.
“It’s downstairs,” I remind her, putting a reassuring hand at the small of her back.
She looks up at me just as the doorbell rings again.
“Dammit,” she mutters, raking her fingers through her hair. “Where’s my clip?” She asks, but then before I can even answer, she makes her way out of the bedroom.