Amalia…

It was night when I woke again. I vaguely remember Kyle coming home and curling back up with me, but now I was finally awake and not only did I need to pee, I was fucking starving. I was also alone in the room, but not in the house. Don’t ask me how I knew. Practice? A sixth sense? Who knew, but I knew he was somewhere in the house with me, down below.

I pushed myself up, body feeling stiff and abused, as much from all the riding as from the brutally beautiful and powerful lovemaking last night. Also, I think, maybe, too much sleep. I sat up and found one of Kyle’s black tees at the end of the bed waiting for me. I pulled it over my head and went into the bathroom in here, used it, and splashed some cold water on my face to wake myself up. It was refreshing, and once I’d blotted it off with a nearby towel and finger-combed my hair into some semblance of sanity, I went in search of my man.

I found him in his dad’s old den, which wasn’t old anymore and had been transformed into something out of a sci-fi nerd’s wet dream. I leaned against the doorway and stared at him, illuminated by the blue glow of multiple computer screens as he read through what looked like emails. Only Kyle could make that shit look sexy. He sat in a super comfortable-looking desk chair in a pair of black drawstring lounge pants and a black wife-beater.

He let out a breath in an explosive sigh and leaned forward, his long fingers playing over the keys of an ergonomic keyboard, which I couldn’t stand those damn things, no matter how good they were for your wrists.

“Hey handsome,” I said softly and he jumped slightly, but didn’t seem too startled. He gave me a side-eye glance, finished typing his thought without looking, quickly checked it and hit ‘send’ before turning.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he said back and I pushed off the door jamb and padded down the two steps, into the room. The carpet was light, and plush under my feet as I went to him. He reached up, hands smoothing around my waist and guided me into his lap. I put my arms around his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him and it felt like my broken shards were grinding together.

I loved how the simple act of having his lips against mine eased the grinding ache of emotion. It soothed some of the hurt into a dull roar instead of the clamoring cacophony of an angry metal concert that it’d been since the confrontation at Indigo Ink.

I cradled his cheek in the palm of my hand and rested my forehead against his, just soaking up his calm. Grateful that after all these years apart, he still had it. That cool, collectedness to him that soothed the crazy I almost always had going on inside. I mean, for real, no one I’d encountered before or since had such a tranquilizing effect on my inner crazy. Not like Kyle did.

“I missed you so much,” I breathed and his arms tightened around me.

“I missed you, too, baby,” and the way he said it was a shot right to my heart. Like he’d been missing such a significant part of his life for so long and that the missing piece was finally fucking here. The tide of guilt started rising again and I was so fucking sick of it. Just tired of it. It was mentally and emotionally exhausting and a damn near constant companion.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” he demanded gently and I let out a pent-up breath and came clean.

“I feel like I broke us, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

He chuckled and shook his head, leaning up and pecking me on the tip of my nose. He met my eyes with his, decided the cute move wasn’t enough and kissed me gently, then deeply. I drew back and held him off.

“I’m serious.”

“You didn’t break us, Amalia Rose. The Boyle family crime syndicate did.”

“I still can’t believe I murdered a crime boss’ son. That’s like the plot line of one of those really bad action movies we watched all the time as kids.”

“You didn’t murder him, baby. You defended your deadbeat cheating huckster of a father, and I know he’s your dad and you loved him but that doesn’t change that he was a real piece of work and that he fucked you over entirely too much and entirely too many times.”

He rushed all that out, heading me off and I harrumphed, “I want to argue with you, take up for him, but I think we’re past that now.” I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was old enough to know better, and I did. I knew Kyle was right. My dad was a piece of work. A real piece of work.

“Didn’t stop him from being your dad, and doesn’t stop you from loving him, but if there’s anyone to blame for you being taken from me, it’s him and I’m going to be angry. I can’t not be angry… but don’t you dare try to take that shit on yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He captured my face between his hands and I ripped my eyes from where I had fixed them on his fancy, modern desk. His burned with such a fierce sincerity some of my resolve weakened and it was like a chunk of something I had no name for broke off and fell away. My soul felt slightly lighter than a moment before.

I changed the subject. I’d never been awesome with feelings, and to be honest, I’d been punished for them so much as a kid, that it had become worth it to just bury them and ignore them for the most part.

“Got anything to eat around here?” I asked.

He smiled brightly and said, “Oh yeah, I’ve got something.”

He gave me a little nudge to let him up and I stood. He followed suit and guided me in front of him out of the study, down the hall, to the kitchen. I stopped and stared at the little dining nook in the corner by the windows, by the back door.

It felt like a real blow to the center of my chest. I mean, this had been the central hub of our childhood lives. This was the table of science projects and dinner every night. I went over to it and touched the old wooden tabletop and turned.

“Told you it wasn’t all different,” he said softly.

We’d never eaten at the fancy dining room table except for special occasions. Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas… that sort of thing.

I sank into ‘my’ chair and Kyle smiled from across the kitchen.

He got into the fridge and microwaved a couple of plates. Midway through the second plate, the aroma reached me. I blinked and sat up a little straighter as he grabbed napkins and silverware and brought the two plates over.

“Made it special for you. Found her recipe for it after she died…”

“Mom’s Mac and Cheese.” My vision blurred and I looked at him and sniffed. “Fuck you,” I said savagely and he laughed and came around, kneeling by my chair and gathering me up while I broke down in fucking girly-assed sobs.

So many things came swarming out of the dark place I kept them and it was like I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t want to feel all of this mess, but I couldn’t stop it. I felt pitched into a storm-swept sea and I was drowning in the black, but then there was Kyle. He was a rock to cling to as the tides ripped at me and tried to drag me into their undertow.

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay,” he murmured and I believed him. I trusted him implicitly and knew that if anybody had my back in this life or the next, it was him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you!” I cried and it was true. It killed me that his parents, who might as well have been mine for all they looked after me when my dad was off scheming, had died and I had missed it. I had missed being there for him. Of course, it was also news to me and hadn’t been something I’d had a lot of time to process. Even when I was down in Florida, I think I’d had myself fooled some. Was living in denial. There was no denial to be had, sitting here in ‘Mom’s kitchen, without her in it.

“It’s all right, I look at it this way. I needed to get over it, come to terms with it, so when it was your turn like it is now, I could be strong for you. It’s all good, baby. Trust me, it’s all good. You’re home, with me, and that’s all that matters now.”

Leave it to Mr. Rational to have an answer for fucking everything. His words should have made me feel better, and they did, so why did I feel like I dropped like a stone further into the depths of despair?