I'm staring at my phone, speechless, and trying not to make it obvious to Trevor that it suddenly feels exceedingly warm out here in the backyard and his sister is to blame.
This woman is going to be the death of me. She's been toying with me all night, from the moment she shook her ass at me on the way out to the not fucking safe for work pic she sent about thirty minutes ago that practically had me throwing my phone across the yard to keep her brother from seeing it.
How she hit that angle in a bathroom stall, drunk off her cute ass, I'll never know but that photo will have a special place in a very locked down secret folder of my phone until the end of time if she lets me keep it.
The other thing that's killing me right now?
The typos.
Amber: Oh yea? tell me just how thos pwers are capable for Office Sallow
I mean, is she serious? She's a teacher for crying out loud. But I'll be damned if I didn't spend a couple extra minutes staring at the screen with every new text notification, trying to decode her every word like a desperate, lovesick wordsmith. And this one's my favorite so far. What are those powers of mine capable of? Well, a lot. Everything she could ever want, need, or desire. I'm here for it.
Keeping things vague, with just the right amount of detail and plenty of intrigue, I type a response as quickly as I can and hit send, bringing my attention back to the situation in the backyard.
"Is it just me? Or does it look different?" Trevor's circling the restored playhouse with narrowed eyes, a hand running over his chin, and looking pretty irritated with himself that he can't put his finger on the slight changes.
I should tell him, and I will, but it's actually pretty entertaining watching him struggle to figure it out. To be honest, I'm a little shocked he hasn't already. As far as playhouse building partners go, he's been on point all evening, thorough and precise. The same things that make him an excellent doctor, if I had to guess.
I'm good with instructions but I have a tendency to be a bit of a scrapper, improvising and going a little cowboy to make sure the job gets done. We're both problem solvers but Trevor seems to be a bit more refined in the process than me, which probably would have been useful when Amber and I were first building it a few weeks ago. We ran into a couple of hiccups along the way that she probably didn't even notice. But one of my structural improvisations, combined with Vince's tantrum, is likely the reason we had to replace an entire side of this playhouse.
I've thought more than once about how I should have just had Trevor come build it with me the first time around. But of course, the idea gets squashed every time when I remember how good of a time I had putting it together with his hot sibling counterpart. She'll always be my first pick.
"The door is a different color," I finally tell him, putting him out of his misery. "The mailbox and planter, too."
Trevor nods his head slowly, looking over at me. "Was that a matter of what was in stock or was there a little purpose behind that?"
See what I mean? He doesn't miss a thing.
A bit of both," I tell him, gesturing to the new, plain white flower box on the front window. "They didn't have the same planter in stock which I was bummed out about because it had little leaves painted on it and Mia loved it. But the, uh... well, the door and the mailbox. That was intentional." I shake my head, looking over the new oak stained door and matching mailbox. They looked pretty sharp in white but there's something classic about the wooden finish that I can only hope Mia will love, too. Plus, there was definitely an end game attached to that choice.
Looking back at Trevor, I confirm his guess, giving him the real reason for the slight changes. "I guess I just wanted it to look... different, ya know? I don't want her memory of this thing to be tainted so I figured I would do what I could to make it feel fresh and new again, despite the fact that it was already fresh and new. I just... I don't know."
"I get it," Trevor mutters, his glance travelling back to the playhouse. "You did good, Tommy. I appreciate you doing all of this."
"Thanks, man."
He clears his throat. "Word of advice though?"
Oh boy. "What's that?"
There's an unsettling pause while Trevor collects his thoughts and I almost tell him to keep it to himself but it's too late. "A part of this will probably always be tainted," he begins, waving his hand at the playhouse. "I may not have much personal experience with this kind of stuff but... I recently walked through some pretty dark shit with Lacy and I can tell you that some of it just won't go away..."
His voice trails off and when I let out a deep sigh in response, Trevor's head shoots over to look at me as he quickly adds, "That doesn't mean the healing isn't happening though. She'll remember what he did forever. But she'll also remember who came in and made the repairs. And that goes for both my niece and my sister. I've seen Amber through a lot of different versions of herself over the years and I've never seen her as happy as she is with you, Tommy. Vince's influence in her life will always linger in some small way, but the key is to trust the process and trust her through all the ups and downs it might bring. And when it comes to both of them, just be there. That's all you can do, really."
My head bobs up and down mindlessly as I begin to put my tools away and Trevor starts collecting the scraps of our project into a pile on the patio.
On the one hand, I feel like he's preaching to the choir here. I know what darkness looks like, how it tastes, what it feels like when it overcomes you, when the people you put your trust in fail you and you're left repairing the damage they've done. But at the same time, I know this is something I need to hear. Because Amber and Mia aren't the same as my family.
This is a new and different love.
For the most part, my family has healed. It hasn't looked the same from one person to the next and there are lingering effects of the life we overcame but we've already come out stronger on the other side. So much time has passed, it's sometimes easy to forget the trauma.
But Amber and Mia aren't through the tunnel yet. And in my urge to protect them, I've been stuck in our little bubble where my only focus is get them through it as quickly as possible, to yank out my trusty old flashlight that got me through the darkness once already and pull them through that tunnel, despite the fact that I know full well it will take time and it will look different for each of them.
Case in point, I spent hours at the construction warehouse picking these new fixtures that would make the playhouse different, trying to somehow create a new association for Mia. But the truth is, it won't truly matter if she's looking at another white door, one that's fancy and new, or seeing a different door entirely. Either way she'll remember that this one is just a replacement of what was built first. The one he broke.
When it comes to Amber, it's no different. I see it in her eyes sometimes when we touch, kiss, hold hands, even when we make love. In those times when she relaxes into my chest, I mean fully relaxes with that sigh of blissful happiness and lets her body wrap around mine, I know it's not only the contentment of being with me. Whether I like it or not, she's revelling in the fact that she's away from him, remembering how it was before and taking note of the differences between the two of us, even as she fights the image of him out of her thoughts.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be the one who brings that blissful sigh. But I know she'll always remember him. The one who broke her.
Her brother is right, the best thing I can do is probably just be there for them, walk with them through the darkness and let it go the way it goes.
As if my thought has tagged him back into the conversation, Trevor clears his throat. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Tommy." His voice is low, a little bit cautious, and a far cry from the casual vibe we've had all evening as we fixed the playhouse together. It puts me immediately on edge.
"What's that?" I ask him, trying to keep my voice even as I finish up with the tools.
"Some shit went down over Christmas, I'm sure you heard about it," he begins, hitting me with a side eye. Spurred on by my nod of acknowledgement, he goes on. "Amber told me she's had cops in her home before." At his words, my head turns to face his hard glance in my direction. I don't have to hear the rest to know where this is going. "One of those cops was you, wasn't it?"
I take a deep breath. "Yes."
"But you didn't do anything?"
"No."
He nods and there's some controlled aggression in his movement like it's taking everything in him to stay calm. "So, you're telling me you walked into that house and had no suspicion that he was hurting her?"
My hand flies up. "It's not that simple, Trevor."
"You could have made it that simple," he retorts.
"No, I couldn't," I try to explain. "There are laws in place, codes I have to abide by, regardless of what I think or feel. We aren't allowed to act on emotion or make assumptions out there."
"Tommy, you did nothing and she kept getting hurt, over and over again." Trevor's head shakes back and forth in disbelief and his voice shoots up an octave, activating my defense mode.
"Don't you think I fucking know that?" I ask him, commanding myself to play it cool and not to go off on him but it doesn't work. I lay it all out. "The thought crosses my mind every fucking time her past comes up. That I was there, I was in that house, and I left. I left her with him. I left Mia with him. But I couldn't exactly go in, guns blazing, and perform a rescue mission, Trevor, especially when she wasn't ready to do anything about her situation at the time. My hands were tied. It still makes me sick to think about, so trust me when I say that I know what I left behind that night."
Trevor inhales a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he takes in my account of things, the parts that I still struggle with on a daily basis. I give him all the time he needs because it's time I still need to this day. I've said it before, the gray area will fuck you up.
"I'm sorry," he finally says. "I just... I need to know she's going to be okay. That you're going to protect her, because I have a feeling this isn't over."
I know that feeling he's referring to because I feel it too. It tasks my mind every fucking day. "I promise, I won't let anything happen to her."
._._._.
After finishing up in the backyard, laying the final touches on the playhouse and putting the tools away, we're catching the tail end of a basketball game when the front door swings open.
Amber pours into the room first, tripping over the rug in the entryway.
"Stupid rug," she mutters under her breath. "Who bought this thing?"
That was definitely you, woman.
"Oh boy, Amber's been drinking," Trevor observes with a smirk on his face. "Been a while since I heard one of those rants."
Amber clears her throat, pointing an accusatory finger at her brother. "Your girlfriend is lame."
"Your fiancé is tired," Lacy clarifies quickly, her eyes finding Trevor with an exhausted smile before she rolls them on their way to me. "And your girlfriend... is drunk."
Amber follows Lacy's eyeline right to me, a much more energetic smile on her face. "My boyfriend! My handsome... handsome man."
"Alrighty then," Lacy sings out, reaching for Trevor's hand. "We're gonna go. Have fun with this one, Sallow."
As the front door is closing behind them, Amber trips her way over to me and falls into my arms.
"Hi," she whispers, looking up at me through her long eyelashes.
"Hey." I can't hold back my own smile now, both amused at the drunk version of her that I've never seen before and amazed by how pretty she is. "Did you have fun?"
"So much... fun," she stammers as a pout covers her face. "But I was waiting for you to come get me. I wanted you to dance with me."
"I'm sorry, baby. But we can dance right here," I tell her. "Living rooms make great dance floors."
She jumps excitedly on unsteady feet as her arms swing around my neck and she begins to move against me. She feels good, really fucking good. I'm also pleasantly surprised by how well she dances, considering her inebriated state, and I find myself regretting the decision not to crash girls night and dance with her on a real dance floor.
I hold her close, matching her rhythm and letting my hands wander her body as we sway to nothing but the sound of our rapidly beating hearts. Her head lands on my chest with a sigh and I wonder if there's anything better than having a perfect woman sigh against your chest. Fuck, who am I right now?
After a few minutes, she looks up at me again, her sleepy caramel eyes looking glossy but heated. "I read your text in the car," she says, her voice dropping low and sultry.
Oops. Forgot about that. "Not out loud, I hope."
She giggles. "No. To myself. I'm not sharing that work of art with other... people."
"Work of art, huh? You liked what I said that much?"
"I loved it. Especially the part about you running your hands all over my body," she says and I think she just attempted to wink but it's hard to tell. This adorable woman is wasted and she seems to be enjoying every minute of it, just about as much as I am.
I have it on good authority that she hasn't drank like this in a really long time so watching how much she's enjoying herself is making me feel all warm inside. Her mouth next to my ear as she comes up on her tiptoes is adding some fire to that feeling.
"I love your hands so much," she whispers. "I wouldn't even mind the teasing you promised."
Hands on her body. Teasing. It would appear her drunkenness hasn't affected her ability to remember what that text said. Let's see what else she can recall.
"What else did you like?"
She hums a little and a deviant smile crosses her lips, one that puts my own to shame. "I liked where you said you were gonna fuck me into oblivion as soon as I got home."
Nope. Not what I said at all. And unfortunately not happening since she's drunk and practically falling asleep on our makeshift dance floor, the only thing keeping her awake being that little spark of desire buzzing through her body as she presses herself against me. The problem is, if I wasn't holding her up, she'd be on the floor right now.
I drop a kiss on her forehead. "No one's getting fucked into oblivion tonight, baby."
She frowns and then leans back in my arms, bringing all the drama as she yells, "Take me to bed or lose me forever!"
Okay, I see you, Amber. Using movie quotes against me again. "I've said this before and I mean it this time. You can't Top Gun this shit," I tell her, pulling her close to me again. "Besides, I thought you were Charlotte Blackwood. That's a Meg Ryan line."
Amber shrugs. "Eh, the sentiment goes," she murmurs. "It's still, um... you know..." She trails off with a yawn and I scoop her up in my arms. The squealing gasp that escapes her mouth as I carry her off bridal style is another one of my favorite sounds.
Her voice turns downright giddy as she asks, "What are you doing?"
"I'm taking you to bed," I inform her, trying not to laugh.
She buries her face in my neck. "Oooh, that sounds sexy."
I wish.
When we get to the bedroom, I set her down on the bed and grab a t-shirt and shorts for her to change into. She comes to her feet and starts peeling her dress off, keeping her eyes on me while she does it. Fuck me. This is the best kind of torture.
Articles of clothing start hitting the floor and she's not wearing much. So before I know it, she's naked and that perfect, toned body is on display. I avert my eyes to the ceiling and command my cock to behave. He's listening, for the most part. But when she steps forward and closes the distance between us, her tits brush against my chest and I forget how to breathe for a second.
Amber's eyes travel down to the front of my pants. "You gonna let me help you with that?"
"Nope." I pass her the shorts and she surprises me by actually putting them on, still maintaining eye contact with me as she smiles.
She throws her arms in the air. "Happy?"
"I'll be a lot happier when you cover those up," I tell her as my eyes dip down to her exposed chest.
She hums a little and her next words are a slur of cuteness. "But you like them. I know you do."
The word you're looking for is love.
I take the shirt and pull it over her head. "That's exactly why you need to put them away."
"Fine," she pouts, pushing her arms through the sleeves and sliding the material down over her body.
I reach down to the floor and pick up her discarded clothes. When I come back up, she's no longer wearing the t-shirt.
Fuck.
"Put that back on, baby."
"Or what?" She sticks her tongue out at me and I don't think I've ever seen anything so fucking cute in my life.
Reaching for her waist, I pull her close to me before walking her backwards and sitting her down on the edge of the bed. "You're killing me, Amber," I mutter, taking the shirt out of her hands and sliding it back over her head.
She complies this time, keeping her clothes on and laying down. Her playfulness seems to wear down almost immediately and as she settles back into her pillow, looking half asleep now, she pats the spot next to her.
"Come lay with me, Maverick."
I do as she says, unable to deny her when she's looking at me the way she's looking at me. Or ever, really. I can never resist her. She's completely irresistible.
After being outside for hours and building the playhouse, I really shouldn't join her in bed wearing these clothes. But you know what? This horny, drunk woman isn't safe to be around in boxers at the moment, so I stay fully dressed for now and climb into bed with her.
She sidles up next to me, swinging her leg over mine and laying her head on my shoulder. "You know what my favorite part of your text was?"
"What's that?"
Her hand wanders up my chest, sliding along my neck and into my hair as she brings her lips to my ear. "The part where you said you would handcuff me."
Holy fuck. Nope. Didn't say that. But I'm down with it. Way fucking down with it.
"I said nothing about handcuffing you, Amber."
Her soft, drunk giggle vibrates through my ears, yet another new favorite sound. I wish I could bottle it up, listen to any time I please. "But you would, right?"
I pull her closer to me, kiss the side of her face. "If that's what you want."
There's a pause as she takes a deep, sleepy breath. "Yeah. I want that," she mumbles, her voice dying down as she finally starts to doze off. "But not tonight... I think I'm ready to cuddle now."
Go right ahead. "Goodnight, Amber," I say, giving her one last kiss.
"Goodnight, Tommy. I love... love you."
"I love love you, too."
._._._.
The next morning, I'm heading back into Amber's bedroom, armed with a cup of coffee and a boatload of teasing on the tip of my tongue. Now that she's sober, it's time to address the interesting events of last night.
She's creeping out of the bathroom, hair still a mess and looking, dare I say, shy. And I'm just shaking my head with the biggest, stupid grin on my face, remembering how she was acting just eight hours ago. Anything but shy.
I'm just about to start with the bullshit when her hand goes up to stop me. "You don't have to tell me," she whines. "I remember stripping for you."
I almost bust out laughing. But the uncertain expression that follows her words stops me cold. I set her coffee down on the dresser, pulling her against me and running my hands along her warm, silky skin. "Don't be embarrassed, baby. We're all entitled to a night of fun. And it seems you had a blast. There's nothing wrong with that."
Her head rises to look at me and I see that look in her eyes again, the one that tells me her wild side hasn't always been accepted so graciously in the past. But thankfully, my encouragement seems to put her at ease and she relaxes into a smile, coming up on her tiptoes for a quick kiss.
"I did have a blast."
"That's good. You deserve it," I tell her honestly. "And for the record, I enjoyed every bit of your strip tease. You totally missed your calling. Especially with all those typos in your drunk texts. For a second there last night, I forgot you were actually a teacher."
Her mouth drops open. "What? I have impeccable grammar, no matter how much I've been drinking," she states very passionately, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.
I reach for her phone and pass it to her. "See for yourself."
She takes the phone and grabs the coffee I brought her, taking a long sip as she peruses our messages, her eyes widening as she takes in her work. Next thing I know, coffee is spraying out of her mouth and she tosses her phone on the bed like the damn thing was on fire and she couldn't take the heat.
Ahh, she found the picture.
She turns away from me, palm hitting her forehead as she whispers. "Did I really send that to you?"
"Yep."
"And you still, um... have it? On your phone?"
"Yep."
She spins back around to me now, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Are you planning on keeping it?"
"Only if it's alright with you. Say the word and it's gone," I tell her. But in my head, I'm pleading with her to let me keep it. Please.
She must see the desperation on my face and a playful smirk dances across her lips. "You can keep it." She takes another swig of coffee before breezing past me, making her way out of the bedroom as the doorbell rings throughout the house. She looks back at me over her shoulder. "There's Mia," she says with a surge of excitement laced through her voice. "Did you guys finish the playhouse?"
"Sure did."
"Let's go show her."
After greeting us with enough enthusiasm to fill the Grand Canyon, Mia tosses her stuff and skips to the back door, plowing right through the yard to check out the new and improved playhouse. Amber's hand slides into mine and I hold my breath, waiting for the reaction I've been overthinking about like a mad man.
Mia pauses at the playhouse door and looks back at me, her mouth tipping up into the sweetest smile. "It's perfect!" she beams, jumping up and down. "The door is the same color as the one in our house now! I knew you'd fix it up perfect!"
As Mia runs into the playhouse, continuing her exploration with new eyes, Amber looks up at me. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears and she sends me a grateful smile.
"Thank you for making everything better."
I give her a smile.
Make everything better. I'm happy to do that for the rest of my life. Because that's exactly what they do for me.