23
When the house came back into focus, the sweet, musky scents of salt and man cocooned me. After Xavier had gone out of his way to show me exactly how desirable I was once more on the kitchen table and then again over the back of the couch, we landed on the soft cushions, naked together. Xavier on his back, me splayed across his chest and cradled in his big arms.
The world was quiet again. Not just outside the house, where Red Hook was a ghost town in the wee hours of the morning. For once, my mind was also still as I lay there, eyes closed while the solid thump of Xavier’s heartbeat played under my temple.
We said nothing. Neither of us was much for trite words or meta-critiques to begin with, but right now, nothing seemed appropriate. No “Well, that was something,” or “What did we just do?”
There was something else familiar about Xavier that I had almost forgotten. This moment after the fact, when lying together skin to skin in the dark of the night, was more of a meditation than an existence.
And so we did, measuring our breaths, content just to be in each other’s arms. Until soft and muffled, Sofia’s voice cut through the quiet with an unintelligible cry.
Xavier tensed, grabbing my shoulders as he clearly prepared to move.
“Relax,” I said, pressing my palm flat to his chest to push myself up slightly and look at him. “She talks in her sleep. But once she’s out, she could sleep through a hurricane.”
He sank back into the couch cushions but didn’t relax. Not completely. He looked at the ceiling for a minute before sighing, blue eyes finding mine with the depth of unknown loss.
“There’s so much I don’t know,” he said quietly. “How she sleeps, for instance. I followed your instructions. Read her a story. Sang a song to that bunny or whatever. Said good night.”
I chuckled. “She got you to sing? She never makes me sing anymore.”
He snorted. Sofia had clearly already wrapped him around her little finger, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, he seemed all the more game to make a fool out of himself just for her enjoyment. Just like he used to with me five years ago.
“But then I had to leave,” he continued softly as his hand began to play up and down my back, occasionally taking pieces of my hair and combing through them. “So I don’t know what happens after that.”
I lay back down, chin propped on my forearm so I could still watch his face. “On her back, arms overhead like she’s in a freefall. But only after I lie with her for at least thirty minutes and let her run her mouth about the day. She only goes to sleep on her own for other people, the little minx.”
He didn’t smile. Not quite. But his mouth quirked at the edges, reminding me just how much I wanted to see that grin more often. As frequently as possible, really. I wanted to see it every day.
Xavier remained quiet, staring at the ceiling, still lost in his thoughts as his fingers traced the divot of my spine.
“I understand now why you did it,” he said after a long while.
I blinked. “Did what?”
“Kept her from me,” he confirmed with a quick, dark glance down. “I would have done the same thing.”
My hand paused somewhere over his sternum. “You would have?”
He nodded. “I didn’t understand at first. I thought, what right does she have, keeping the girl from her own dad? And maybe I still think that a little. But I see now when I look at her, and—Jesus God, she scares the shit out of me, Ces. This feeling…” He splayed a big hand over mine, except his covered most of his chest, whereas mine covered only a fraction. He pressed both our palms down hard and took several deep breaths. “I look at her, and I can hardly breathe, I’m so scared.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Parenthood does that.”
“Fucking hell. It’s only been a few days. What’s it like after four years?”
I shrugged, then lay my cheek back onto his chest. “Weirdly, you get kind of used to it. But sometimes it’s worse. I love her so much, the idea of anything happening to her now makes me feel like I honestly couldn’t go on. I get why people who lose their kids fall apart. It’s not natural.”
He quieted again, but his hand had stopped moving. Instead, he spread his fingers and pressed his palm flat to the small of my back, as if to hold me even closer.
“You know, I’m not what you think I am.”
“Oh?” I mumbled into his neck. “What do I think you are?”
“Cold. Callous. Angry.”
“You’re not those things?” It was news to me. “You want to tell that to the date you just scared off?”
He chuckled. It was nice to hear. “Well, not always.”