Page 46 of Fighting the Forbidden

“It’s the only family any of us have,” she says quietly.

“True.” Remy’s dad kicked him out when we were in high school, but his grandparents took him in at least. Now they’re gone. I had my mom, but I often wonder if growing up on the street might’ve been less damaging.

“I’d never want to come between you guys,” Molly says quietly.

“I won’t let that happen. That’s why I want to do things right.” It’s dangerous getting carried away right now, but I kiss her forehead anyway. “I want to give us a good life.”

“Mmm.” She sighs. “We can make a good life together, Griff. That’s what I want.”

I like the sound of that way too much.

“No one comes between us. You and me,” she murmurs, “against the world.”

“You got it,” I whisper.

Her breathing deepens and I peer down at her serene face. Everything in me wants to stay right where I am. To hold Molly all night long. But that’d be asking for trouble.

Soon.

But not tonight.

Carefully, I pull my arm out from underneath her and shift myself off the couch. I can’t leave her downstairs by herself. And if Remy comes home in the morning to find us sleeping on the couch together, lose his shit won’t begin to cover his reaction.

“Come on, my sweet muffin.” I slide my arms under her small frame. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmm,” she sighs. Her body jerks as I lift her.

“Hang onto me, baby.”

She links her fingers around my neck and murmurs, “Okay.”

“That’s it.” I turn us toward the stairs and carry her to her room. Her door’s only open a crack and I nudge it open wider with my foot.

It’s too dark to see more than the outlines of her furniture. I cross the room, praying I don’t trip over something. Thankfully, Molly’s always been pretty neat.

I make it to the bed and gently set her down.

“You want the sweatshirt off?” I tug on her sleeve.

“No. Mine now,” she mumbles.

Laughing softly, I turn away and click on the small lamp on her desk. It casts a soft glow in the corner of the room.

When I return, Molly’s on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek. I chuckle under my breath. It’s an improvement from the way she slept when we were kids—with her face shoved under the pillow. Remy teased her so much about smothering herself to death that she must’ve ended up breaking the habit at some point.

A fruity scent with a hint of something warmer lingers in the air. Like the cherries and vanilla scent of her shampoo, but softer. Her long, thick hair fans over her pillow.

She sighs and murmurs something I can’t make out, then flips over to her other side, facing away from me. My lips quirk. How can my sweet girl be such a violent sleeper?

With her back turned toward me, it would be so easy to slide into her bed. Gather her in my arms. Bury my face in her hair. Kiss her shoulder. Wake up with her pressed against me.

One day.

Stillness settles over the house as the night eases toward dawn. I should go downstairs. If Remy decides to come home early and finds me up here, watching his sister like a creepy intruder, he’ll kill me.

Keeping my eyes on Molly, I click the lamp off. To my relief, she doesn’t stir.

As quietly as possible, I step out of her bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

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