Page 47 of The Rogue

“Nice. What about Tessa? Did you look out for her like daddy would have?”

“No, I was nice to her.” He wiggles free and hops on the couch.

Fuck.

Here I thought I’d been raising my kid to be a gentleman. But apparently, my actions speak louder than words.

“So…nothing happened? Everyone else was nice to her too? Anything that might have upset her?”

He considers it for a moment, then shakes his head.

Paranoid. I’m paranoid. And my kid is left to deal with it.

I ruffle his hair.

“Okay, I’m ready for movie night. What are we watching?”

We both turn to Tessa coming down the stairs. Her hair is tied up loosely over her head. Strands of red curls framing her face. She’s in pale pink pajama pants and a white tank top.

And fuck, she looks like the one thing that’s been missing on movie nights.

Her skin is freshly washed, possibly moisturized and it’s almost like she got her second wind.

The microwave dings, snapping me back to reality, and I move to the kitchen without a word.

“We’re watching Jumanji,” my son raves. “Are you in?”

“I’m so in.”

I return with a large bowl of popcorn as Tessa grabs the faded family throw, wrapping it around her shoulders and settling into the couch.

It was my mother's. Dad used to wrap Jackson in it when he was a baby, insisting it was better than those useless swaddles. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her use it to her comfort and I’m surprised at how much I appreciate it. Especially since anyone outside our family has always been turned off by the ragged old blanket.

I clear my throat, sitting on the long side of the L-shape couch. “I’d ask you if you’re comfortable, but you look it.”

She grins sleepily. “Thank you.”

We’re barely twenty minutes into the movie, and I’m not sure Tessa is going to make it. Her eyes flutter closed every few seconds. I could practically feel the weight of them.

I should tell her to go upstairs. That her “shift” ended hours ago, but I don’t want to. Something about her here with us, even asleep, feels…complete.

When her eyelids finally fall, I guide her gently onto the pillows in the corner. The throw still wrapped around her shoulders as she falls sideways onto them.

Jackson peers over and I shrug. “More popcorn for us.”

He seems sad for a moment, and I’m on alert. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“She was tired. She…she fell asleep in the car.”

I nod absently, reaching for another blanket, and freeze, twisting my neck to look at him. “What did you say?”

He hesitates.

“Jackson?”

“She asked me not to say anything.”

Something sharp hits my chest, but I keep my tone even. “Right, but we don’t do that anymore, right? We don’t lie to Daddy about important things.”

---