Page 136 of Unwrapping Deviance

Careful not to be too loud, I gingerly set my bags down and cross to where Daniel holds Mira nestled against his chest. Her head on his shoulder, face half buried in his neck. Her breathing is slow and even, the palpable whisper of slumber.

Guilt tangles up my insides as I reach to touch the cool curve of her cheek right over her jaw.

Mira comes awake immediately. Her blue eyes spring open and she jerks upright. She blinks like a baby owl at Daniel before noticing me and giving a little gasp.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Christian!” The blanket is flung off and she lunges out of my brother’s lap to throw herself into my chest.

The tackle nearly takes me over.

I wasn’t expecting it. A large, sad part of me hadn’t even expected she would notice I was gone. I had a whole picture in my head of finding her and Daniel curled up on the sofa, watching TV, both surprised when I finally walk back through the door.

But her arms are cracking my ribs. Her face is pressed so deep against my chest, I’m sure it’s leaving a bruise. And she’s shaking.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” I murmur, clasping her back.

There’s no excuse.

Getting caught up in my head is no reason to worry her like this. I should have known better — I do know better. Daniel has been telling me she’s fragile and I need to be careful.

“It won’t happen again,” I promise into the top of her head.

“It’s okay,” she says barely over a whisper.

I know it’s a lie.

I see it in Daniel’s frown when he unfolds himself from the old rocking chair, rolls up the blanket off the floor and pads in the direction of the door.

“I brought food,” I tell her, trying to cheer her up. “Shawarma.”

She gives a soft laugh and lifts her face. “I do love shawarma.”

Carefully, I frame her cheeks between my palms and peer imploringly into her eyes. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Mira gives a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I wasn’t worried. Daniel was. I was just keeping him company.”

Biting back my grin, I dip my face and kiss the tip of her nose. “He’s always been a worrier.”

She nods and lifts her face for a proper kiss.

I oblige and, like her lips have the power to soothe the ache I’d been carrying the entire drive back, the storm calms in my chest. The noises recede.

Mira twists her arms around my shoulders and holds me to her. To the slender fingers she works into my hair, the lips moving in time with mine.

“Where’d you go?” she asks when I finally free her.

After smoothing a thumb over the damp curve of her bottom lip, I gather up her tiny hand, my bags, and take everything inside.

“I had to get some things,” I tell her, shutting and locking the door behind us. “Are you hungry?”

We set up camp in the living room. The still semi hot cartons of meat and rice are scooped into plates that we set around the coffee table. Daniel lights the fireplace and I flick the TV on.

Supper passes in moderate silence broken mainly by the show Mira has chosen; I can’t remember the last time I watched TV. I can’t even name a movie in the last five years. It’s nice.

Comfortable.

Like we’ve done this a million times.

---