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“It’s not that he doesn’t want your help. He just doesn’t need it as much as you might think he does. You’ve raised a really smart and capable son, Kathleen. I think he’s learned more from you than you realize.”

Her expression softens and she sniffles. She turns back to the carton of eggs she pulled out of the fridge and starts cracking them into a shallow bowl. Have I been dismissed? Does she want me to stick around? Is she making French toast for breakfast?

“You know,” she says, not bothering to turn away from her cooking. “I’m glad Connor has someone like you in his life. I think you’ll be good for him.”

Relief washes through me and I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

“His past boyfriends have been… meh.” She shrugs, unimpressed. She pauses, whisk in hand, and studies me. “But you’re different.”

I want to be different. I want to give Connor things he’s never had before, things he can’t get anywhere else. I want to be as good for him as he’s been for me—and that’s a tall order.

Affection wells up inside of me, filling up every abandoned pit and every forgotten corner. It grows and grows until it feels like I’m overflowing with it, like I’m going to drown in it. No, it’s not merely affection, it’s so much more than that. It’s deeper, stronger, more potent. If it’s not quite love yet, then it’s well on its way there. It’s only a matter of time.

“I’ll do my best to take care of him,” I say to Kathleen, the emotion making my voice crack.

She smiles, a little sad and resigned, but more than anything else, hopeful. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CONNOR

I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, getting all teary-eyed and choked up. When Donnie lays it all out like that, I feel like such an ungrateful child. And also, entirely vindicated at the same time. He makes it sound so simple, so obvious, while Mom and I have been ruthlessly going at each other’s throats.

I need to cut Mom some slack, I think. I should let her in a little more, let her help a little more. I can’t keep coming to every encounter with my shields up and defenses primed. Not if I want our relationship to improve. And I do.

“Hey.”

I squawk and almost fall down the stairs. I’ve got one hand on the banister and the other on the step, heart somewhere up in the attic of the house. Donnie’s standing above me, holding two mugs and smirking.

“What are you doing?”

I right myself, comb my fingers through my hair, and tug my shirt straight. I clear my throat, still groggy from sleep. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You weren’t eavesdropping?”

I drop my jaw and flop a hand over my chest. “I would never!”

“Hmm.” Donnie narrows his eyes. “I was on my way down to bring you coffee.”

I make gimme hands at him. “And I was meeting you halfway.” I take the mug he offers and hold it to my nose. Ah, the sweet scent of caffeine-laced sugar and milk. I take a sip and gaze over the rim of the cup at Donnie.

My breath catches in my chest at the way he’s watching me, like he’s studying every eyelash, the angle of my nose, the curve of my brow. Like he’s trying to soak in every inch of me because he can’t get enough. Like I’m the only thing he ever wants to look at for the rest of his life.

“Come here,” he says and I take the two steps up to meet him.

He pulls me into a kiss. Our lips fit together like they were made for each other. He tastes like bitter coffee but underneath it is the sweet familiarity of Donnie. Woodsy and citrusy and I want to crawl inside him and live there.

His tongue delves into my mouth, slow and sensual, deep and so fucking erotic. He kisses me like I’m oxygen, like I’m water, and he needs this kiss to live to the next minute. He kisses me like I’m his everything.

I’m coming apart at the seams from this kiss, falling to pieces as his tongue slips into every corner of my mouth and licks over every inch. I cling to Donnie, my knees weak, and my limbs liquid. My cock is harder that fucking steel.

“Ahem.”

Someone clears their throat behind me and I jump, spilling hot coffee all over my hand.

“Fuck!” I stick the burned spot into my mouth and glare at Dad who’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, like it’s a normal occurrence for him to stumble upon his son making out with his boyfriend at the top of the staircase. I flush so hot, my cheeks burn. “Jesus, Dad. Way to sneak up on us.”

“Well, it is my house.”

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