Page 104 of Needing Your Love
There was nothing left to say but the same two words I’d whispered to his passed out form that night he’d left me bleeding on my bedroom floor.
“Later, loser.”
I sashayed away, truly hoping my dad wallowed in misery in the fiery depths of Satan’s realm even though I didn’t believe in hell—or heaven for that matter, unless Sutton was loving on every inch of my body.
Shivers rippled down my spine as I crawled into my BMW and started the engine. Warmth blasted from the heat vents, and I didn’t even bother glancing at the past over my shoulder while driving toward my future.
Sutton had been cooking since yesterday, teaching me how to prep sausage and sage stuffing, bake pumpkin and apple pies, and make homemade orange cranberry sauce. Brine a massive turkey enough to feed an army, even though only a handful of people were joining us for Thanksgiving.
Jamie and Chaz had already been at the house when I’d gone out for a quick jaunt across town through the dusting of snow we’d gotten overnight. They’d been setting the tables when I’d left.
On Tuesday afternoon, the woman Sutton and I had been meeting with together outside of our individual therapy since that shitty day back in October suggested saying a final goodbye to my father might help in my path toward healing. We’d been so busy yesterday that I hadn’t found time, but this morning, I was ready to move forward. Take that one physical step I could toward creating a base for new thought patterns and processes, which was proving to be quite the task, one Sutton focused on too, considering we now shared another connection with motherfucking PTSD.
Some nights, I woke from nightmares. Others, he did.
But we had each other’s backs every single time. A warm body to hold. Words of assurance and edification.
He was my oak, and I was his.
As for Dad? I’d expected to spit a simple, “Fuck you,” as my goodbye but had ended up speaking my mind as Sutton told me to do almost daily.
His constant encouragement and adoring love gave me confidence I’d never thought possible. The beginnings of freedom had proved addictive, and even though picking apart my trauma every week sometimes left me in tears and huddled in on myself, I was working it out. Wading through the shit to reach the shores of new beginnings, where nothing would hold me back.
Sutton bravely did the same, and his vulnerability and honesty prompted me to respond in kind. There were no secrets between us, no more manipulative tactics to get what I wanted. I spoke my mind, showed him exactly how needy I was—and he loved me as-is.
A half dozen cars parked along the street in front of Sutton’s and my home, and I practically skipped to the front door, my heart light, my pulse thrumming with excitement.
My first Thanksgiving with family—of a sort. The last time I’d sat down for a turkey and the fixings had been when I’d been wicked young, living with Dad’s parents because he hadn’t wanted me. Once they grew too old to care for me, I’d been sent back to him. Not once did he and I celebrate a single holiday.
Sutton spoiled me at Halloween, and now Turkey Day awaited us, a meal and afternoon we would share with loved ones.
I couldn’t wait for what Christmas would bring, the New Year yet another chance to create new goals. Fulfill hopes and dreams.
Dexter pulled in behind me, and I climbed from my car, waiting for him to join me.
No Christian.
I glanced up the road but didn’t see another car.
Dex scowled while climbing from his Jeep.
“Where’s lover boy?” I teased, and he cursed, striding past me. Chuckling, I followed on his heels.
His on-again/off-again sidekick/fuck buddy—who the hell knew what they were to each other—had been invited to join us.
I guessed he would be a no-show but left the matter lie so as not to antagonize Dex, who’d become like a big brother to me.
The scent of baking turkey wafted over me as he threw open the front door and strode in like he owned the place. His doing so had given him an eyeful of his best friend’s backside while railing me right there in the entryway against the wall the day after Halloween.
He’d knocked ever since.
I hung up my coat and meandered into the kitchen while Dex made a detour for the living room.
Sutton lifted a large casserole dish of stuffing out of the oven and popped in two cookie sheets loaded with rolls before turning toward me and pulling me in against his rock-hard chest.
“You okay, baby?” he murmured against my hair that had been flattened by the beanie he’d insisted I wear while visiting my dad’s grave.
“Better than I’ve ever been.”
