Page 64 of Simply You & Me

On my knees, I whisper, "I'm so, so fucking sorry, Adelyn." This won't be the last time I kneel and bare my battered soul to her. I'm a dominant dick, but I will fucking crawl for her.

Chapter Forty-Two

Adelyn

The past two days have been a mind fuck since Zach barged into my apartment and demanded to take care of me. Take right now, for example; Zach has Rory settled on the kitchen counter while he and Tate show her how to make tacos.

Rory and I spent the day watching movies and working on some exercises for school. She's had an entire week off at this point, with one more week to go. Thanksgiving is on Thursday, and I can only fucking hope the guys' mess gets cleared up so she can go back to school next Monday.

Squeezing my wet hair into my towel, I pad into the dining room and watch the scene unfold in front of me. Rory giggles when she throws a chip at Tate, who catches it in his mouth with a whoop and a fist pump. Zach notices me first, comes around the island, picks me up, and sets me on a stool. Not the counter because that's too dangerous for a two-foot pregnant lady.

Without saying a word and commenting on my blush, he slides a sliced apple across the counter with a water. I mumble my thanks and nibble on the crisp goodness. Bean settles now that we're sitting, wrapped in a black matching set of sweats, and supplied with fruit.

I snuggle further into my chair and look up, only to catch Tate's eye. The depth of his gaze is vast. He holds nothing back as he openly stares into my soul. I see every word he wants to say and feel each emotion he freely offers me. My bottom lip wobbles as my eyes burn. I look away quickly at the sound of Zach's voice.

"Peanut, try this." Zach offers Rory a bite of, I want to say nachos, but it looks like crunched-up chips, meat, and every condiment stirred in a bowl. Rory takes the fork Zach offers her, and her eyes immediately light up at the concoction he made.

"Mom, you have to try this!" Thankfully, she swallowed her big bite before shouting.

I laugh quietly and make grabby hands for the bowl. Without making me wait, Zach moves to me but doesn't offer the bowl. Instead, he lifts a filled fork to my lips, and I have no choice but to open, lest it spill everywhere.

Flavor explodes over my tongue, a welcomed flavor that's hard to come by these days. I bounce happily in my seat and reach for the bowl, excited about the taco salad.

The bowl is pulled out of my reach, and a fork prods my lips. I open, mildly indignant about being fed this way by him again, but I want the food more. Bean has been taking away my fight with him these past few days. Since he busted into my apartment and demanded to know why I was cold and not eating perfectly good food, he's been here each day, helping me.

Nothing more. Zach hasn't demanded a thing besides, dare I say it, my submission. Bean makes it easy to be cared for since doing it myself is exhausting. I'm just so damn tired. Tired of thinking, of second-guessing. I'm sick of feeling like shit and falling asleep whenever a moment presents itself. I'm sick of them in my space, but even worse; I'm sick of how damn helpful Zach is.

Not to mention, I am absolutely sick of Tate's incessant need to make me feel things. I just want to hang out with my kid, eat tacos and cereal, and keep my head in the sand until this all blows over. Yet, for days now, the blond-haired younger man approaches me with his heart on his sleeve and forces me to hear him. The way he watches me and checks on me tells me he's hearing me too, and I hate it.

I wish they would be dicks and leave me alone. Rory is thick as thieves with Tate again, so that doesn't help anything. Zach wiggled his way in there too, and now he has Rory begging for him to hang out with her.

I haven't seen Julian, but I've heard his voice outside my door a couple of times. He's out there, keeping watch most nights. Looking out for us and keeping us safe when he should be home and sleeping. Yet he chooses to be here, alone in a dank hallway, for hours on end.

I've gotten one more letter and a dozen drawings since the first sheet of paper that broke my heart. I have yet to read the second one because the sketches he's drawn have made me cry enough. With gentle lines, he sketches me and the guys. He's even given me some of Rylee and each of her men. Gabby is in the pile too, with Rory as well. He hasn't drawn one of Bean, but he’s given me the nickname drawn in calligraphy.

I have a sketch of everyone that matters to me. I'm half tempted to slide a picture of my mom, dad through the cracks of the door to see if he can recreate them as well. I don't, though. I worry that as soon as I make contact with Julian, I'll finally crumble. Each brick I've erected against them will come tumbling down if I'm face to face with the most emotional and thoughtful man I have ever met. His sketches and written words are breaking me enough as it is.

Wyatt hasn't been around at all. I've been home from the hospital for a week, and I still haven't heard anything from or about him since I saw him on my doorstep last Tuesday after yelling at Tate. It shouldn't hurt, but I feel like he's left me all over again. Like he's letting the other three grovel for him.

I'm not stupid or have my head in the sand so deep I'm not aware of what's happening. Julian, Zach, and Tate are groveling. Each in their own way, every damn day. I didn't expect them to react this way when I booted them from my life. I figured they would take care of the threat, maybe help with the baby, and leave it at that. Not cook me food, feed me by hand, clean my house, write me letters, sketch my loved ones, show me their bleeding hearts and secrets in their souls. I didn't expect the emotional dump from four of the toughest men I have ever met.

Tate, the bright young one who seems innocent, has surprised me with his determination to make me see him… to feel him. Through his openness and vulnerability, I have found his truths, and the only thing that scares me about them is how much I care, too.

Zach, the grumpy leader of their family. I knew he had a kink for hand feeding me and taking care of me, but this devotion to my health, happiness, and safety is far more than I can comprehend or push away. I need the help. I need him. He's making everything bearable even while my life is flipped upside down and tossed every which way.

Julian, the jokester who never stops smiling. I miss it. His laughter and joy. He's shocked me the most with the anguish and sorrow he's written in his letter. I'm sure when I read the second one, it will be just as heart-wrenching. His sketches, the thoughtfulness and emotion; it's been jarring but beautiful.

They're groveling and I don't know what to do with it. Do I stop it? Do I yell and rage at their audacity to smooth over such an awful fucking thing that happened to me? That they had a hand in causing. Yet they aren't smoothing over it. In their own way, I know they are giving me space while also challenging me to face it. But I don't want to face it.

I don't want to think about the young boy who raped me and who is now hell bent on ruining the guys' lives through my own. Because I matter to them. I matter so much to these men that I've become a target that could bring them to their knees. What do I do with that terrifying power? What do I do with all the food, kindness, and vulnerability?

Dust drops from a quake hitting the walls I've built as Zach makes Rory her own bowl of taco salad. A crack shatters another brick when I catch Tate watching me while I'm lost in my thoughts. Two bricks fall when one more sketch is slid beneath my door.

The two people I miss the most in the entire world. Julian drew my mom and daddy.

Julian’s Sketch

Chapter Forty-Three

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