I love love.
I love the feeling of knowing I matter to someone as much as they do to me. I love the excitement that rushes through me at the thought of that person. The assurance that they will always be there for me.
I hate love.
I hate the vulnerability that is considered part of loving. I hate the ache and loneliness that follows when you realise they no longer love you like they did. I hate to have my happiness tied down to one person.
Love breaks as much as it heals and I think I am at my breaking point. Maybe El still loves me but she’s doing a great job of masking it. Moving here has improved the girls mood, it’s the reason I’m hanging on.
Bren pokes me in the side with her elbow. I groan before she even asks the question.
Not again.
“Are you and Mummy back together?”
If I have to hear this question one more time, I will stuff my ears with wax. Christ. She rolls the spaghetti around her fork without eating it. I look to Brianna for help, she spares us a cautious glance and returns to her meal. Not once does Wyn look up from her meal, her focus is on the spicy chicken on her plate.
El cooked. I’ve been banned from my own kitchen. “We are working on it,” I say at last.
My answer only works for a day. Tomorrow, she will ask again. She won’t ask her mother but El is the one holding us back. Bren steals the chicken from my plate and sticks her tongue out when I lift a brow.
In her defense, I haven’t touched my meal. I am waiting for El to join us. I know her plan. I am not falling for it. One of our weird living rules is eating together. A family that eats together, stays together but she comes to the table late, when we are almost done eating so she doesn’t have to sit by my side for long.
The twins assigned her the seat beside me. I might have put up a fuss but I secretly liked the idea. My fingers graze the file on her seat, I was hoping to give them to her after dinner. She can have her shares.
“Wyn, drop it,” I state the moment she picks up her tab. “No phones at the table.”
Her lips pucker. “But it’s not a phone.” I stretch out my hands for the tab. “Daddy.” I don’t budge and a defeated sigh escapes her as she lets go of it. I tuck it under the file. She stabs her chicken with a scowl.
These days, she is easily my favourite. No nosy questions. Very compliant. I spare another look in the direction of the kitchen. How long does it take to get a glass? I push my chair back and excuse myself.
The place is silent, I glance back twice to be sure the girls are still seated. El is standing by the sink. Her head hangs between her shoulders, she turns on the water, rinses her mouth, then spits back into the sink. I take a tentative step towards her. We are not on touching terms yet. I don’t want to spook her.
I stop at the counter to get an empty glass I fill with water. “Hey,” I murmur. She looks up, first at my face, then the glass I hold out to her. I’m certain she won’t accept it but she surprises it by taking it from me, careful to avoid skin contact. She finishes it in one gulp and offers me a tight smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She grips the sink and nods but the tremors in her voice don’t escape me. I place a hand on her lower back, her arms tremble slightly and she twists so we are facing each other. “Brandon, I’m fine.”
Sparks fly on the connecting part of our bodies, I bring her hands to my chest. The distance between us diminishes and her breathing changes. My mouth inches close to her ear. “El. You look tired,” I whisper.
That slight jerk of her head and a tight smile follows my statement. My heart skips, different thoughts flood my mind. She’s acting odd. I hook a finger under her jaw to inspect her face. The dark circles are less prominent but her eyes are tired. The lights in her brown eyes have dimmed and it’s partly my fault.
I press my forehead to hers. “Baby,” I whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m exhausted.”
Cupping her face, I peck her on the lips. Her jaw. My mouth lowers to her shoulder and I place another kiss there. Her smile doesn’t touch her eyes but she doesn’t push me away so I take it as a sign to scoop her into my arms and start for the door. She shrieks. Her fists connect with my chest but I don’t let up.
She needs rest. And I’m volunteering myself as her pillow and cuddle buddy.
“Put me down,” she orders.
I stop moving. “No.”
We have a lot to discuss but in this moment, I don’t care for any other thing. I’ve missed the feel of her soft, feminine body against mine. And her punches feel like a masseur’s touch rather than a punishment.
“Brandon, put me down.” I stick my tongue out and she shakes her head in disapproval. The girls taught me that. “Put me down.” Her voice loses some of its edge and her tear dam bursts. “Put me down.”
The tears work like magic. I set her down on the counter. I understand she doesn’t like me so much right now but crying because I carried her? That’s too much. I’m not that bad. I hug her as she cries into my chest, my hand moves across her lower back. She looks up with tear coated lashes and my heart jumps.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I’m not sure what I’m apologising for but it feels like the right thing to say. I take her hands as tears silently stream down her face. “Baby.” El sniffs. “Don’t cry, I don’t like it when you cry.”
El punches me once, twice till she’s raining punches on my chest. I allow her have her fill but she doesn’t stop. My hands circle her wrists, bringing them to her sides. A second or two passes without a struggle.
“What did I do?”
“You took my babies from me,” El chokes out through a sob. The struggle begins, my grip slacks and she resumes punching me. Her palm connects with my face, chest, anywhere she deems fit. “You didn’t let me see them.” Snot runs down her nose, she pauses to catch her breath. “You didn’t let me speak to them.”
“Because you let her drown,” I breathe out. It earns me a blow to my stomach. Fine. “I was scared.”
“And you think I wasn’t?” she whisper-yells. “It was an accident and you know it.” The punches stop and she wipes her face dry. “Bren is my daughter too and you didn’t even give me the chance to be properly there for her.” Her eyes are red from crying too much, she straightens up and points to the door. “Go.”
Shock has me stepping back. Go where? I scan her face for any sign of hesitancy but she still has a finger pointed to the door. Annoyance singes my insides. Her shoulders square in defiance and she chins up.
“I should leave?” I place one hand on each side of her. “I’m not going anywhere, El. We need to talk.”
Her lips vibrate like she’s about to cry again. I push past the urge to draw her into my arms and murmur sweet nothings to her. “I don’t want to talk to you.” She’s being a child. Acting like a spoiled brat. It’s cute but annoying. I want us to resolve this like two mature adults so we can have our lives back. “Go.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I mutter, “No.” If she wants to be child, then I will be an entitled brat.
“Daddy?”
Our heads jerk to the door where our little troublemaker is standing with her hands akimbo. El lowers her arm and puts on a fake smile. Bren walks over to us. She makes a show of coming to stand between me and her mother and I hide a smile. She doesn’t need to protect her mother from me. I want her too.
Bren’s brows furrow as she observes El and she pushes me another inch away from her mother. It’s so easy to pick her up and throw her over my shoulder but I let her believe she has power in this situation.
“You are making Mummy cry,” she says. To El, she murmurs, “Did Daddy make you cry?”
Two second pass. El shakes her head and I release my breath. I push forward to place a hand on her knee, her lips twitch but her fake smile doesn’t waver. I take it an inch further by kissing her neck, then behind her ear. The column of her throat moves as she tries to stifle her moan but it comes out as a cry.
Bren giggles. I knew she was on my team.
“Daddy was just helping me get something out of my eyes,” El explains to Bren. Her hand covers mine to stop my finger moving across her belly. It’s hard to tell if she’s wearing a bra. She tsks. “Right, Daddy?”
My brain pauses on the word—Daddy. Her lips remain in that pout of disapproval and a stirring occurs in my groins. I can be her Daddy anytime. In this kitchen if she likes. Fuck, no. Somewhere there’s no Bren.
Speaking of Bren, she tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy?” she says. “We were talking to you.”
I open my mouth without a word. My mind blanks. “Bren, Princess. Mummy and I need to talk, okay?”
A gleam of hope creeps into her eyes, her head bobs and she bounces on her toes. I have an idea where she thinks this conversation will lead to, I want that too but this little man in my briefs has other plans.
“About?” she drawls out.
“Adult stuff,” I reply. She looks confused for a moment but nods. “It will make Daddy and Mummy very happy.” El stiffens and I try not to laugh. “We don’t want any disturbance. Tell that to your sisters too.”
There’s a bounce in her step as she runs out of the kitchen to hopefully deliver my message. As soon as she’s out of sight, El slaps the back of my hand. I frown and she frowns harder. “What was that for?”
I massage the spot more than I should. Her frown eases. “Don’t say stuff like that to the kids.” El tries to get down from the counter but I push one leg between her legs. She’s going nowhere. “Out of my way.”
“Stuff like what?” She shrugs. “Should I have told her I want to have sex with you?”
El slaps a hand over my mouth and her eyes round to saucers. Such a cutie. Her eyes dart to the door.
“I don’t want to have sex with you,” she replies.
Her lips say one thing but her eyes say another. I choose to listen to her eyes. My hands move behind her back, she slides her arms around my neck. We share a knowing look and her eyes darken with lust.
She wants me too.
“Is that so?” She nods but her lips are sealed as I climb the stairs. We can discuss later.