Page 55 of Mine

His hand moves to my head and tangles through the strands. Leaning in, I rub my cheek against his thigh, not caring that it’s something a dog would do for attention. I want to show him how much affection and respect I have for him, and this is one of the ways I like to show it.

“Thank you. I’m proud to be your Sir too.”

I nod, and he pulls me to my feet, then takes my mouth in a slow, claiming kiss. There’s hunger in it, yes, but it’s also filled with fear and uncertainty. Marshall is always so confident that it’s hard to taste the worry on his tongue.

“Come. We don’t want to be late.”

He takes my hand, the two of us going to his car. Marshall told my dad he needed to talk to him and Mom. I’m sure they’re going to be confused when we show up together.

We’re quiet as we drive over, the air in the vehicle thick and heavy. I can’t stop my finger from tapping against my thigh, and eventually, Marshall reaches over and places his hand on top ofmine. “It’ll be okay,” he says, though it’s clear from his voice that he doesn’t believe it.

“I know.” As much as we’ve discussed honesty, I’m pretty sure we’re both lying right now.

The ride takes much less time than it should. Did all the cars just leave the road to make this happen even quicker?

Marshall kills the engine when we pull into the driveway, then looks over at me. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“These are your parents.”

“They’re your family too,” I counter.

Marshall pauses, then nods and says, “They are.” And then without another word, he gets out of the vehicle.

My stomach twists, my heart beating too fast as I join Marshall at the front of the car, and then we walk to the door together.

“It’ll be okay,” he says again, quietly, when we reach the door. “Are you sure you want this? If not, we walk away right now.”

“I want it. I want you.”

His pupils widen as he takes me in, a hungry stare I feel like a caress against my skin. I feel his need for me, his desire, like it pulses through the air. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and it gives me the courage to motion to the door.

Marshall gives me a barely perceptible nod, then knocks on the door. A few moments later, Mom pulls it open, smiling widely at Marshall, before her gaze snags on me. Her brows pull together.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” The concern in her voice is palpable.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” I step forward and pull her into a hug, breathing in the scent of vanilla lotion she always wears.Please accept this… Accept us.

She nods, but I can see the confusion as she looks back and forth between Marshall and me. She steps back to let us in just as Dad comes down the stairs.

“Hey, Marsh. Oh—this is a surprise. Did you two run into each other outside?” he asks, not even considering that Marshall and I could have come together, and why would he? Yes, he’s like family to us, but we’ve never hung out just the two of us. We never would have shown up at my parents’ house together if there wasn’t a specific reason they knew about.

“Let’s go into the living room,” Mom says before Marshall can reply. She knows, I realize. That quickly, she knows. It must be a mom thing, and even if she doesn’t know the details, she understands that something big is about to happen, and she’s trying to manage how and where it all goes down.

Dad doesn’t seem to have a clue, and he wraps his arm around Marshall, giving him a hug. My Sir winces, and I want to fix this for him. I want to find a way that makes it all okay. I don’t want him to lose more in his life than he already has, and certainly not because of me.

Marshall clears his throat and pulls back. I can read him so well now. He feels that hugging Dad, letting the two of them be close in this moment, is a betrayal because in just a few minutes, Dad isn’t going to want to be close to him.

“What are you doing here?” Dad asks me. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you don’t show up out of the blue very often.”

We enter the living room. “He came with me, John,” Marshall says, and I swallow down the bile burning at the back of my throat.

Dad’s gaze immediately shoots to me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m good. Actually, I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

Mom sits on the couch, watching us. Dad looks back and forth between Marshall and me, trying to piece together what’s happening, but he can’t—it’s not something he would ever consider.

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