Page 33 of The Way We Are

My threat holds no steam. Even if she's laughing at me, I’d rather her find my appendage amusing than not be here at all.

“It’s an, ‘I’m so impressed, I can’t contain my smile,’ smile,” Savannah assures me.

The huskiness of her voice makes me wish I didn’t fall asleep wearing jeans. I’m going to have a zipper mark permanently etched into my dick at this rate.

“You’re killing me, Savannah.”

I want to say more, but since I’m five seconds away from showing her how appreciative I am of her compliment with my tongue instead of words, I keep my mouth shut.

Smiling, Savannah burrows her head into my chest. It could just be wishful thinking, but I swear she mumbles, “You’re not the only one dying.”

We remain quiet for several minutes. It should feel odd holding another man’s girl in my arms, but it doesn’t. Savannah was mine years before Axel came into the picture, and she will be mine years after he’s gone. I’ll make sure of it.

“I can’t believe you still wear this,” Savannah murmurs a short time later, her voice still sounding tired. It's husky and sweet, sending a pleasing zap to my balls.

My lips twist into a smirk when her attempt to spin the frayed rope circling my wrist fails. “I guess my dick isn’t the only thing that’s grown the past few years.”

The six clumps in my stomach crunch when Savannah’s fist lands in the middle of them. “We’re trying to ignore the monstrosity in your pants, not encourage it.”

“Monstrosity?” I say with an arch of my brow, my one word husky with laughter.

“Yeah. Monstrosity,” Savannah mimics, her tone nowhere near as playful as mine. “Because keeping that thing locked up is outrageous.”

Someone fucking kill me.How the hell am I supposed to respond that?

Thankfully, Savannah continues talking, saving me from issuing a shameful response. “This is new.”

Goosebumps prickle my skin when she traces lazy circles on the thin trail of hair extending from my belly button to the rim of my jeans. Although her touch is innocent, the crackling of sexual tension building between us is anything but. It grows and grows and grows until she's mere millimeters from an area moments away from breaking the fly on my jeans.

When her fingertip grazes the shiny metal button sitting low on my hips, my eyes snap shut and my ears prick, praying I’ll hear a familiar click.

Disappointment engulfs me when Savannah’s hand darts away from the rim of my pants while muttering, “This is new too.”

The worry in her voice forces my eyes back open. Her panicked gaze is locked on an inch-long scar on the lower right hand side of my abdomen. “Was that done by...him?” she asks, her bottom lip shaking.

I shake my head. “No.”

She lifts her head off my chest to peer into my eyes, seeking any untruth in them.

I’m not lying. I’ll never lie for him.

“My appendix erupted three years ago. That’s where they took it out,” I explain, loving the concern in her eyes.

I’m not relishing her fear; I’m stoked she still cares enough she's worried about my well-being. “My father won’t hit me. He only gets pleasure from tormenting women.”

Savannah harrumphs. “That’s because he assumes we won’t fight back. One day he’ll be taught a hard lesson.”

I jerk up my chin, confident he’ll soon get a taste of his own medicine. I don’t know how or why, but I’m certain karma will ultimately kick his ass.

Another stretch of silence passes between us. Even with the tenseness of our conversation, there’s not an ounce of awkwardness. Waking up with Savannah in my arms is as natural as breathing to me. Prior to her grounding for failing to sneak back into her room on the eve of my thirteenth birthday, she woke up in my bed a minimum two to three times a week from the age of ten. She belongs here. Even if our relationship remains platonic, it's right for her to be here. Savannah has been a part of my life for years, even when we weren’t speaking. No amount of guilt will change that. None.

I stop twisting a strand of Savannah’s glossy hair around my finger when a deep roar bellows through my closed bedroom door. “I swear to god, woman, how many times have I said to put liquid starch in the dryer?”

A faint sniffle is heard, closely followed by more shouting. “I don’t care what the manufacturer says. You do as I tell you to do!”

I jackknife to a half-seated position, knowing I’m moments away from the sound of skin slapping skin. When it doesn’t come, I startle, unsure if I am coming or going. I want to protect my mom, but if I do, I’m leaving Savannah defenseless in the house of a madman with no morals. But if I don’t protect my mom, who knows how far my dad will go. He's even more vicious when he is hungover.

“Go, Ryan,” Savannah pleads, her voice as wounded as the pain tearing through my chest. “Stop it before it goes too far.”

---