Page 68 of All My Love

“Which way, baby?” I quietly croak, stopping in my tracks. The way baby rolled so easily off my tongue is… alarming, but also… fuck, it felt good. It feels good to have a place to put my love and care, in a way that a man wants to carefor a woman. I love my son, but caring for Dolly fulfills things inside me that only this kind of relationship can.

“Last one on the right,” she sighs, nuzzling her nose into my throat, my pulse hammering. “You look so handsome tonight.”

“And you look gorgeous,” I remind her, heat prickling up my neck, my jaw burning as the words I’ve felt forever finally tear free. “You’re so beautiful, Dahlia.”

“I hope I remember you said that,” she says as we arrive at the end of the hallway. I bend slightly, not letting go of Dolly as I reach for the doorknob. I nudge open the door, and her hand, full of my dress shirt, flies to my cheek. “Leave the light off,” she says, a moment of clarity peeking through her champagne haze.

I nod. “Okay.”

I step inside, giving my eyes a minute to adjust to the stark darkness. When the shape of the bed materializes, I take a few steps, carefully laying her in the center before taking a seat on the edge.

“I’d ask to take your heels off, but you aren’t wearing any,” I tell her quietly. I’m not ready to leave her, but I know staying makes no sense.

“I love my naked feet in the dirt,” she says. “I love Bluebell.”

“I love that you love Bluebell,” I admit, feeling a bit guilty to take advantage of her ephemeral memory. Sorting out how I feel about Dolly has been complicated the last few weeks, but as I watch her breathing level out, sounds of love and happiness being celebrated in the near distance, things become a lot more clear.

I want Dolly.

I just need to know why.

“Dolly, when you’re sober, I want to talk to you.”

Her eyes open, and though she doesn’t move her head, her gaze finds mine in the low light of her private room. “You want to know why I looked up Tiffani,” she says quietly, still sounding a bit fuzzy and muffled. I swallow hard, because I do want to know why, and the carrot she’s dangling to find out is tempting. But a serious talk while one person is sober and the other isn’t is just wrong.

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, “come over. Let’s talk.”

“I looked her up because I had a gut feeling about her. I knew she wasn’t right for you,” she says like it’s an admission.

“How?” I knew Tiffani wasn’t right for me either, but I’d love to know how Dolly knew. Because she was right. Tiffani wasn’t for me, and she isn't for my little family, and she doesn't make much sense in Bluebell either.

“Because I know you, and I know what makes you tick, and I know what you need, and I know what hurts you, Hudson Gray.” Her eyes close and I think she’s going to doze, so I selfishly inch my fingers into her hip.

“Why are you so good to me, Dahlia? Hmm? Why are you so loyal?” Something warm swells inside me, making my pulse skip and my balls tighten.

Headlights shine directly into her bedroom window, piercing through the linen curtains, briefly illuminating the space.

Laughter sounds off, paired with muffled conversation and a running engine. The headlights keep the room dimly lit as the person getting into the truck is clearly saying their finalgoodbyes.

Their goodbyes are giving me a look at Dolly’s room.

I grip her hip more tightly, blinking at the space around me, my breath catching.

The walls are lined with photos.

Some are actual photos taken from this very room, some taken from other places around her property or mine.

One of me with a rope looped over my shoulder, hat soaked with sweat, face turned up to the sun. Bumps spread down my arms beneath my dress shirt as my focus moves from photo to photo.

One of me in jeans with my shirt off, a bale of hay balanced on my shoulder, Bear thirty paces ahead of me, in nothing but boots and a diaper. That photo is at least two years old; he was potty trained right around two and a half.

The photo next to it, held to the wall with a blue push pin, is me sitting in my pickup truck, a tumbler of coffee at my lips. I had no idea Dolly even owned a camera.

Held by a strip of tape, next to it is another photo, this one of Deuce and myself, Bear between us. This one is a professional photo from Deuce and Ev’s engagement shoot. They’d invited us to knock out family photos in the same pass. I’ve never even seen this photo. I lean in, and some of the other images catch my eye.

Torn from magazines, photos of families, women baking in the kitchen with happy children around them, family portraits with barns in the background… then one of a black pickup truck, the image aged by sun, taped right by her bed.

That’s the same truck I drive.

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