Page 75 of No Mistakes
CHAPTER 31
MANDY
The cool airhits my skin as soon as he pulls away, and for a moment, I just stand there, bracing myself against the glass, catching my breath.
Ant doesn’t say a word, but I hear the quiet rustle of movement behind me, drawers opening, fabric shifting, water running. When I turn, he’s already dampened a towel from the en suite, his eyes soft, careful as he steps back to me.
“Sit,” he says, voice still rough but gentler now.
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, legs shaky, heart still fluttering from everything we just did. He kneels in front of me, and for a moment, I wonder if it’s possible to fall even harder for someone who barely speaks.
The towel’s warm, and the way he moves, slow, focused, tender… has something twisting in my chest. He’s not just cleaning me up. He’s caring for me. Looking after me in the way no one ever really has.
I watch his face as he works. The crease between his brows. The set of his jaw. The soft way he exhales like he’s concentrating, like he’s afraid to hurt me.
“You don’t have to-” I start.
“I want to,” he cuts in quietly.
God, this man.
When he’s done, he presses a soft kiss to the inside of my knee before standing, tossing the towel aside. I shift back onto the bed, and he follows, pulling me into his lap without a word, like this-us-is where we’re meant to be.
I settle against him, legs folded across his thighs, my skin warm from his touch as our bodies touch. One of his hands curls around my hip, holding me close. The other rests low on my back, like he needs the contact just as much as I do.
I tilt my head and watch him for a second, tracing my finger lightly over his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”
His eyes meet mine, hesitant, but he nods.
“What was she like?” I ask. “Your mom?”
The silence stretches between us. He doesn’t flinch, but I feel the shift in his breathing. The way his hands are still. The way his eyes drop from mine like the question is too heavy to hold.
I don’t push. I don’t fill the space with nervous chatter or soften it with humour. I just wait, letting him sit in the silence, giving him the room to choose if he wants to speak.
He finally swallows, jaw clenched. “She was kind,” he says, voice quiet. “Always tired. But she still smiled like she wasn’t.”
It’s not much. But it feels like everything.
I nod, brushing my thumb along his cheekbone. “Mine… wasn’t like that.”
His gaze flicks to mine, curious despite himself.
I exhale softly. “She tried, I think. But she was angry. Lonely. Took it out on me sometimes. Not always, but enough to… stay.” I pause, thinking about the nights my mom came home drunk, throwing plates, cups, anything she could get her hands on, against the wall. “I think she loved me. Just didn’t know how to show it without hurting. When I turned eighteen, she randomly left one night and never came back.”
He doesn’t speak. He just shifts, pulling me closer, resting his forehead against mine like he’s sayingI hear youwithout the words.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a while. “That she made you feel like that.”
My throat tightens as I hold back my tears. “I’m sorry yours had to carry so much.”
His hand slides up, fingers brushing the back of my neck, grounding me. He leans in, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek as he rests his head.
“You’re nothing like her,” he says quietly. “You’re…good. Even when you’re a pain in the ass.”
I laugh softly, resting my head on top of his. “Takes one to know one.”
His chest rumbles with something that might be a laugh, and I can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s mine.
