Page 30 of Wild Eyes
I can’t help but wonder if West braided his little girl’s hair himself. The thought of his big, gentle hands twisting strands of hair together with such care makes my chest pinch uncharacteristically.
It makes me wonder what else those hands could do.
It makes me annoyed at myself for continuing to think about him in that way.
I push my wandering thoughts away and walk to the house, hand in hand with Emmy. She doesn’t say a word, and I suspect that means she might be tired. When we round the corner out of the trees, West is standing at the front door, shoulder propped against the frame as though he knew we’d be coming.
He’s wearing boxers and absolutely nothing else.
Contrasted with his close-cropped, sandy-colored hair, his beard seems thicker than it did earlier today. Like it’s grown right before my eyes.
Warm light shines from behind him, illuminating every plane and dip on his chiseled body. What jeans hid before is now barely left to the imagination. Thickly muscled thighs. A body dusted with a masculine spread of hair.
He looks comforting and intimidating all at once. I wonder if he’d be gentle or rough. Or the perfect blend of both.
And then I hate myself for wondering about these things.Again.
I straighten when I see his jaw pop and his eyes laser in on his daughter.
“Emmeline Belmont, where have you been?” His voice is deep but not loud, yet I flinch.
I never realized how much my parents yelled at me until I moved out on my own and found my house to be incredibly quiet. I never realized how traumatizing it was for me. When I got in trouble, there were no soft tones or asking if I was okay. One wrong step and voices got loud. Words became vicious.
And when I got in trouble, it wasn’t for sneaking out. It was for not giving the right answer in an interview or for eating so much that my dress didn’t fit the way they wanted it to.
No, when I got in trouble, it was merely for being human in a way that may or may not have affected my parents’ paycheck. The one I’ve been handing over to them for years because I trusted them implicitly.
And they fucked me over.
There is absolutely nothing similar about the way West says his daughter’s name and the way my dad would scream mine at me. There’s no berating her, no intimidation, there’s no cowering.
And it stops me in my tracks.
“Sorry, Dad,” she says immediately.
I don’t want to get her into any more trouble, so I add, “She just came for a quick talk. I walked her back almost immediately.”
West’s irises become a shade closer to midnight blue in the dark. Navy like the blanket of the sky above us. I could wrap myself in that blue and maybe finally feel some peace.
Emmy turns pleading eyes on her dad. “I only snuck out to tell her she can’t leave because Oliver likes her, and he talked to her, and Oliver never likes or talks to anyone.”
West stares at his daughter, eyes keen, but she trusts him enough that she holds his gaze. They have a stare off of sorts, but it’s not an intimidating one. It’s as though they’re having a conversation, a silent one that only they can understand.
It’s touching.
Eventually, he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out with a heavy sigh as he scrubs one hand over his close-cut hair. “Emmy baby, we really got to talk again about minding your own business. You know that, girl?”
She nods and gives him a solemn, “Okay, we can talk about it. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to mind my business if it means lying because you told me I can’t lie, and all I did was tell Skylar the truth.”
Just like his daughter, West pushes his tongue into his cheek as he stares down at her, and I choke back a laugh. I don’t know Emmy well, but I’m getting the feeling that she’s a bit of a challenge. A test for his patience. Regardless, the way he looks at her tells me he loves every minute of it.
“This is true, Emmy. You shouldn’t lie, but you also can’t be sneaking around the property after dark when I think you’re in bed.”
He turns his attention back to me. I can see the apology on his face. Which is funny because I am also feeling apologetic standing on his front step. Again.
“Emmy, get your ass in bed,” he grumbles, gently gesturing her inside while ruffling her hair. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
She scampers past him, but after taking a few steps, she turns and gives me a full grin, displaying all her Chiclet teeth and the twinkle in her troublemaking eyes.
