Swing (Landry Family #2)(45)

“Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.

“For what?”

“For being here for me. Let’s go sit down. I want to cuddle.”

“Cuddle?” he asks, his brows raising. “If all I get for this is a cuddle . . .”

I laugh as I make my way to the living room, leaving him to follow me. I wait for him to sit so I can use him as a pillow.

My head in his lap, looking up into his eyes, I feel relief. Relief from the loneliness that saturates my life, especially this time of year. A break from feeling like no one cares. A reprieve from fending for myself.

I’d forgotten, or maybe I’ve never known, this little smidgen of peace in my soul. Even if it doesn’t last forever, I’m grateful it’s here today.

“I was worried about you,” he says, his eyes full of concern. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why?”

“Because you were upset. You were crying.”

“Haven’t you seen a girl cry before?” I laugh.

“Yeah, but usually because of some dumb shit that I really can’t feel sorry for them over. But you, today, that was fucked up.”

“It’s just a part of my life,” I shrug.

He brushes a strand of hair off of my forehead. His touch is gentle, caressing, and I close my eyes and just enjoy being at the receiving end.

“Do you have other family?” he asks. “Besides your parents?”

I shake my head. “I’m an only child. So were both my parents, so no aunts or uncles or cousins. My father’s parents are alive, but they live in Washington State in some kind of nursing home.”

“Your dad put them in a nursing home?” He seems shocked by this, almost flinching as he says it.

“Yeah, I guess. We were never close with them anyway. I saw them sometimes in the summer when they took a vacation near us. But that was maybe six or seven times in my life that I remember.” I think back to the weird moments with them. Stifled tea hours. Odd conversations. No hugs, no kisses, no little presents like my friends’ grandparents brought them, even though mine had way more money and means. “They’re in their eighties, probably. They had my dad when they were older in life. So once they couldn’t live alone, Dad signed papers for them to live in this center. I remember hearing my parents discuss it.”

He whistles through his teeth. “They’re hard core.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because unless you cannot physically care for your family, you don’t put them in a nursing home, Dani. They’re your blood. Their sacrifices got you where you are, in part.” He cringes, as if maybe he’s overstepped. “I just didn’t grow up like that, I guess. My mom’s mom lives in a little guesthouse behind my parents. And if I have to take care of my mom when she gets old, I will. I won’t lock her up somewhere.” He chuckles. “Graham gets Dad though.”

I can’t help but laugh at the look on his face. “You really don’t see eye to eye with your dad, huh?”

“Nah, we get along. I’m just the most like my mom, I think. Dad is all about work and success and the Landry name. Mom is more about enjoying life, making a difference if you can.” He strokes my arm. “You know, when I first got signed by the Arrows, I remember thinking, ‘Maybe this will make Dad proud. I’m a professional. I’m an asset to our family.’”

“Lincoln . . .” I say softly. “I’m sure he’s proud of you either way.”

He just shrugs. We both sit still, lost in our thoughts, and, before I know it, my eyes are closing and sleep settles over me.





Lincoln

SHE STIRS. IT’S A SLOW process. At first her hand wiggles, then her feet start to rustle under the sheets. Her head goes back and forth and she yawns softly before her eyelashes start to slowly flutter.

It’s fascinating. I realize how creepy this may look—me lying on my side in my bed, watching a girl sleep. I don’t give a fuck. I want to be here when she opens her eyes. I want to be the first thing she sees.

Her lips press together as her lids lift. She startles for a half a second before realizing it’s me. “Hey,” she whispers, clearing her throat. “How’d I get in your room?”

“I carried you. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” Her brows pull together. “What time is it? And when did you get new sheets?”

“I changed them today.”

“I’m impressed.” She yawns again. Her face looks pale, the start to bags evident under her eyes. Her normally smooth features are tight and I wonder what she was dreaming about. “Thank you for letting me come by.”

“Of course.”

She gives me an odd look, tugging the blankets around her. “What time is it?”

“It’s still pretty early. Want me to order some dinner?”

“I better get home. I’ll just grab something on the way.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

“I work tomorrow.”

Kicking myself for missing such a huge point, I scramble for a solution. “Want me to stay with you?”

“You don’t have to do that. Thank you for taking care of me today. Thank you for being there for me.”