Page 87 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Does she know?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s the only thing I’ve ever lied to her about. I make sure I’m always honest with her about everything else, no matter how painful or embarrassing it is, to try to make up for it.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Eventually, but not right now. Not when the wound of her mom leaving is so fresh.”

I squeeze him tighter and lean my head back.

He doesn’t just need to hear what I have to say; he has to see it too.

His gray eyes find my blue ones, and we hold the other’s gaze steady and firm.

There’s more than a night of tangled limbs between us. There’s a bond of painful pasts. There’s the need to push for more, to be better than where we came from. There’s a soul-deep connection only two broken people know.

“You’re a good man, Porter, and an even better dad.”

Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. “Dory…”

I close my eyes, savoring the way he says my name. “You’ve been doing that a lot tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“Saying my name. Why?”

His lips ghost against my ear. He’s so close. That scent I’m quickly getting too used to is surrounding me, mixing with the alcohol, making everything hazy.

“Because tonight is just ours.”

I try to hide my shiver, but it’s pointless.

“Porter?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I changed my mind about what I want for my birthday.”

His eyes search mine, askingAre you sure you want to go there?

I do.

“What’s that?” His voice is ragged. Scratchy. So full of uncertainty and hope.

“Kiss me.”

Slice Eleven

Porter

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My head feels like a tiny person crawled into my brain and set up a trampoline inside of it.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I drank much more than I intended to last night, and it’s all Dory’s fault.

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