Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Your daddy surprised me tonight with that speech. I miss her, your mama. She was a good woman. You’re just like her—funny, confident, know how to light up every room you enter. People gravitate toward you the way they did her. Your father did from the first moment he met her.”
I looked down, traced my finger over the pattern on the comforter. “Yeah, I know. She was the best.”
“We were blessed with two wonderful women…your mama and Helena both.”
I didn’t respond because I wasn’t sure how to. All paths led back to Lane and me being family.
“You’re a lot like your dad too, the way you keep so much inside you. There’s a lot more going on than you show the world, but you’re different in how you deal with it. Your daddy, bless his heart, struggled to move on, while you push through for other people. I think you do that more than even you realize—holding back, not putting your own wants or needs first because you’re always worried about the people you love.”
If that were true, I likely wouldn’t be fucking my brother. I also wouldn’t be willing to have a relationship with him, secret or not, regardless of the outcome, which I was. It made me selfish, but I wanted him, and as long as he would have me, I’d have him.
“I don’t know about that, Grandma.”
“Well, I do. You’re a good man, and we love you. We’ll always love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
I stood, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “I love you too. I think I heard the shower stop. I’m jumping in after Lane and then hitting the sack.”
“You’re stubborn too. Not sure where you got that from. I just know it wasn’t me.”
I laughed, walked to the door, and picked up my bag, which I’d left there. “Good night.”
She asked if I could close the door, and I did. I lingered in the hallway, waiting for Lane to finish up. He came out in a pair of paint-splattered shorts, and from the looks of it, no underwear because he wanted to fucking kill me. And because he loved being naked. “Get out of the way, slow-ass,” I said playfully.
He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear as his voice dropped to a whisper. “You like my ass.”
“I love your ass,” I whispered back, brushing my fingers over the thick globes much more quickly than I wanted to.
“You’re naughty.”
My cock twitched. “Go to the attic, Lane.” Because if he didn’t, I was bound to pull him into the bathroom with me, and I was determined to be good while we were home.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I replied, but that wasn’t true. I wanted him, and I was thinking about Dad, and about what Grandma had said, and now my mom. What would she think if she knew about me and Lane? Somehow, I knew she’d be supportive. That it wouldn’t be wrong to her. She would know I was happy, and that would be the end of the discussion. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Lane nodded and went. My shower was quick, focused on getting myself clean and not letting my thoughts wander.
I put on a pair of boxer briefs and shorts, then went to the attic, pausing only to flip the lock. If somehow we ended up in each other’s arms, I didn’t want to get caught.
Our parents must have taken the bedding up earlier. Lane was already sitting down, pillows propping him up against the back of the couch. There was an open spot beside him, but… “Is there a reason there are no pillows there?”
“Yes, I took them.”
I tossed my bag beside the couch and chuckled. “You’re such a brat.”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“Did we go backward in time tonight? First the I’m-rubber-and-you’re-glue comment, and now this?”
“It feels like it a little, doesn’t it?” The corners of his lips turned down.
Yeah, yeah it did.
The couch was against the wall, beneath the window. There was a nightstand on Lane’s side, with a lamp on it, the little differences in our space bothering me even though I had no right for them to.
I hit the main light, but Lane’s lamp was still on. The moon was high in the sky, shining through the window and the partway open curtains. “What is Scenes from the Attic?” I asked. I hadn’t since I’d heard about it.
“It’s an emotional series. Silhouettes of people in the distance, but all of them through a four-pane window. It relies on color for mood—the sky, clouds, rain, sunshine or not, all hopefully bringing out the emotion of those silhouettes in the background. It sold for…a lot of money. I can show it to you online.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“I think it was meant for you…or because my time here with you was so important to me, even though I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I just thought I loved the attic, not that I loved the attic because you spent time with me here.”