Page 90 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Does she also remember the last time we were in this house before everything went wrong? Before we started building lives that didn’t include each other? We were shoulder-to-shoulder exactly where she’s sitting when she discreetly jacked me off under a blanket with her entire family surrounding us watching a holiday movie.
Jesus. The memory makes my cock stir, which is wildly inappropriate.
I glance at Mara, who’s asking Ma about her cooking. My girlfriend is making a huge effort, she’s genuinely interested in me and I’m thinking about fucking my ex who’s here with her small children.
For fuck’s sake. I’m an asshole. The twilight zone of our two worlds colliding is too much.
So, I drift and tune out the conversation. Watch mouths move without registering words. My defense mechanism. I’m floating in my own world until I feel a presence beside me.
The older girl.
Isla stands close, silent, brown eyes locked on mine like she’s trying to decide what to say. There’s something careful in her stare. Like she’s weighing me.
“I picked the cake.” She points to the half-eaten piece on my plate. “Did you like it?”
I lean forward and shove a huge bite into my mouth. “Best I’ve had in years.”
That earns me a small, triumphant smile.
She hesitates again. “Can I sit by you? Mommy says you’re a rockstar and you used to be best friends.”
“Course you can.” I tap the cushion beside me as my heart simultaneously melts and then breaks.
She climbs into the chair next to me without a word and nestles in, her skinny shoulder pressing into my side. Doesn’t speak. Or fidget. Just sits there. Solid and warm, eyes flicking between the other grown-ups and me with quiet interest.
I can’t fucking breathe. The weight of her against me is nothing. And yet it stirs a longing inside me I don’t comprehend.
I’m not her father. I’m nothing to her. She leans in trustfully, however, without hesitation. It levels me. I want to run. I want to hold perfectly still. I want to forget everything and I want to remember it all.
Not long after, Isla’s breathing slows, her hand resting on my sleeve.
She’s fallen asleep.
On me.
Across the room, Stevie’s voice cuts through the conversations surrounding me. I look up, instinctively as her eyes survey the scene. Oldest daughter curled into me, my hand cradled awkwardly near her back. Something shifts in her expression. Then she turns away, moving toward Lucinda, who’s started clearing plates.
Mara leans over. “Oh my God. How sweet,” she whispers, grinning. “She must really like you.”
I nod, unable to speak.
Stevie steps toward us a moment later, gaze pinned to her daughter.
“Isla,” she commands, soft and sure. “C’mon, sweetheart. Wake up, we’re gonna head home. It’s past your bedtime.”
The girl stirs. Blinks. Doesn’t speak as she slides off the couch and pads silently toward her mother, taking Stevie’s hand without looking back.
I force myself to appear unaffected. I stand and hold my hand out to Mara. “Ready to go?”
She nods. “Sure. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
At the door, Lucinda folds both of us into another warm hug.
Hank claps my shoulder like no years have passed. “Glad you came, son.”
“Me too,” I lie, because tonight has been far too awkward and confusing for my liking.
Mara and I step into the night, the porch light flickers behind us. Stevie stands close to the doorway with her baby draped over her shoulder, his tiny fist curled into the strap of her sundress.
