“Candace is telling me about what happened the other night.”
“Mom.” I’ve been avoiding asking Candace how she’s been feeling about the whole situation to keep from upsetting her.
“It’s fine,” Candace assures me, so I stay quiet and listen as they continue to talk.
I watch my mom take ahold of Candace’s hand when she asks, “Do you have any other family at all?”
“No. It’s only ever been the three of us since my father’s parents passed away.”
“What about your mother’s family?”
“I’ve never met them,” Candace tells her. “I have never known them to speak. I’m not even sure they know about me.” Her voice trembles as she says this, and I run my hand up her back, wondering why she would have a side of her family that she’s being kept away from. But before I can question it too much, my mother leans in and takes Candace in her arms, hugging her. We both have her in our hold when she begins weeping.
I feel horrible, but glad that she’s here with me and that she would open up to my mother, who’s nearly a stranger to her. I think of how long it took Candace to show me even a hint of this side of herself, but I know my mom has a way about her that can make anyone want to open up. She’s always been that person for me, so seeing her provide Candace a little of that when I know she’s probably never gotten it from her own parents is a good thing.
My mom pulls back, telling Candace exactly what I’m feeling as she wipes the tears from Candace’s cheeks.
“I’m glad you’re here with us.” Candace only nods when my mom says, “I’ll let the two of you be,” before walking out of the room.
I pull Candace to me, resting her back onto my chest as I lean against the armrest. She continues to let out soft whimpers.
“Don’t cry, babe,” I say quietly.
“I’m tired,” she tells me. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
So I don’t say anything else. Taking her hand, I lead her upstairs so that she can lie down. It’s late, and I’m sure she’s exhausted from our busy day.
I let go of her hand when we hit the doorway and watch as she walks into the bathroom. I wait, listening to the faucet run, and when she returns, she doesn’t say anything as she looks at me and gets into my bed.
Her back is facing me, and I’m not sure what she wants me to do. I know what I want to do, so I swallow the questioning thoughts and decide to not leave her in here alone. I walk over to the edge of the bed, pull back the covers, and slide in behind her. She’s curled into a ball, so I wrap myself around her, tucking her into me, when she wedges her hand underneath mine for me to hold. This small move is all I need to assure me that she wants me with her tonight, so I stay.
Waking up with Candace is something that I can get used to, and I want to. So much so, that when I dropped her off at her house after we drove back to Seattle today, I asked her to stay at my loft tonight. She didn’t want to at first, hell, even after trying to talk to her about why she’s so apprehensive about it, I still don’t think she wants to, but she wound up agreeing anyway.
I know that Jase told me that she was inexperienced, but I’m not quite sure how inexperienced he meant. After seeing how shy she was when I told her I wanted her here tonight, I’m pretty sure this girl is more innocent than I thought. But I want her here, and I want her in my bed. I’ve never wanted anyone in my bed. I avoid it. Always have. Always keeping everyone I’ve ever brought here downstairs. But her . . . I want it with her.
Getting a drink of water, I see headlights shine through the windows as her car pulls into my drive. She had to work the closing shift tonight, so it’s a little past midnight as I watch her get out of her car. I head over to the door and wait for her to knock, but when I hear nothing, I wonder if she’s having second thoughts. Hell, I’m surprised she came in the first place with how hesitant she was earlier. I startle her when I open the door.
“What are you doing out here?” I question with a tilt of my head, knowing all too well what she was doing—worrying.
“Umm, nothing. I was just about to knock.” A clear lie, but I find myself liking it.
I take her bag as she walks in, setting it at the foot of the stairs. When I turn, I see her fidgeting her hands as she stands awkwardly in my living room. Needing her to relax and not feel this way when she’s with me, I go over and take her in my arms. She accepts the touch willingly and clasps her hands behind my back, leaning her forehead against my chest. When she lets go of a deep breath, I give her head a kiss, asking, “Better?”
Her hum is soft when she says, “Mmm hmm.”
“Good. I’m wiped. What about you?”
“Yeah,” she breathes.
I take her hand, leading her upstairs. Walking her into my room, I aim her past the large closet, saying, “The bathroom is right over there.”
She looks up at me, smiling, before taking her bag out of my hand and closing the bathroom door behind her.
I change clothes while I hear her taking a shower, and just knowing that she’s naked in there—in my shower—starts a swarm of thoughts I know I need to get under control before I get her in my bed. Heading back downstairs to grab a bottle of water for her, I hang out in my kitchen, giving myself a few minutes before I go back up.
She’s stepping out of the bathroom when I return, wearing a similar tank and pajama pants as she has the past couple of nights. I watch her hop up onto the tall bed, and I have to laugh at her as she slides under the covers. Sitting next to her, back against the cool leather headboard, she settles herself into my hold. When I look down at her, she’s looking at the tattoo that’s inked on the side of my ribs. I know she’s gonna ask me about it when she lays her hand on top of it, so I decide, on the fly, to just tell her. She was so scared to be here with me earlier. I told her she could trust me, but I know my words aren’t enough, so I’ll give her a reason to try.