Page 18 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Fifteen

Hank

When I get off work that night, I have a text message from Phoebe waiting for me.

Does the offer of the spare room still stand?

My heart leaps—no, it fucking flies —into my throat. Hastily I text out an answer, even though it’s the middle of the night and she’s probably asleep.

Yes, it does.

She wants to live with us. Even if it’s just in a roommate capacity, she wants to live. With. Us.

Milo and I. In our house. In the spare room.

Damn. I get a boner in the car just thinking about it. It’s going to be tough to keep my hands to myself, but I will until she’s ready.

If she’s ever ready . But I shake that thought off. No, I’m going to convince her that she belongs in my bed and in my life. That Milo and I are the best possible match for her.

Then I’d like to take it. I can pay rent and watch Milo some of the time.

I blink at the time on my dash when I pull into my driveway. It’s nearly four in the morning. Why is she awake? Maybe she couldn’t sleep. She must have gone back to her sister’s house and now the couch is bothering her.

You don’t need to pay anything. And watching Milo isn’t required, either. My mom takes care of him most of the time I’m at work.

There’s a long pause on the other side, so I unload my gear and take it into the garage before entering the house. It’s quiet and dark.

You have to let me give you something, or I’ll feel guilty.

I can feel the anxiety radiating off the message. I suppose I understand that. She doesn’t want charity.

Okay. Then we can trade for babysitting. And if you feel inclined to cook...

I’m happy to cook.

I enjoyed watching as Phoebe showed Milo how to crack an egg, and I think it’ll be good for him in so many ways to have her around.

Great. Then move in whenever you want. Do you need help bringing your things over?

What things?

I wince. True.

I have everything you need.

She doesn’t answer that, and I wonder if she’s gone to bed, or simply doesn’t know what to say. Finally, her reply comes.

I’ll come by tomorrow.

See you then.

Moving Phoebe in is easy when all she owns is a trash bag full of clothes and her computer equipment. I help her carry it down the block from her sister’s house to mine.

“I need an office chair,” is the one thing she says after we deposit her minimal belongings in the spare room. All I have are a desk and a bed, having never really needed the chair.

“There’s an office supply store nearby,” I say. “I can drive you.”

“They have so many pens there!” Milo’s blue eyes are bright and starry. “Every pen in the world .”

Phoebe gives me an odd look, but I just shrug.

“He loves pens.”

Phoebe

It didn’t take much persuading for Sandra to give her blessing for me to move in with Hank. She was all too eager to get rid of me, so I know it’s for the best.

After depositing my things at Hank’s house, the three of us head over to the office supply store.

Milo browses the highlighters with shock and awe while I survey the selection of desk chairs.

I pick something within my budget, and Hank helps me carry the box out to the car.

Milo gets a set of markers, playing with them and his new notebook while I set up the chair in the spare room in front of the desk.

A desk. Just for me. After my month of living under Sandra’s feet, this feels like the one thing that’s mine .

“Thank you, Hank,” I say as he gets the wheels of the chair attached. “Thank you so much.”

He turns the chair over and rolls it back and forth to make sure the wheels are seated. “I just put together a chair, no big deal.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No, I mean, for the room. Having my own space again... you don’t know how much it means to me.”

He gives me one of his rare smiles. “I’m glad we could give you that.” He straightens up and pushes the chair under the desk. “Feel free to use the closet, the dresser, anything you want. This is your home now, too.”

It sends a sharp pang into my chest. Home .

My home is gone. But maybe... this could feel a little like a safe place. Like a home away from home.

I smile in return, because he’s already made me feel so welcome here. “I appreciate that.”

Hank nods, then shows himself out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

First, I unpack my few clothes, which I’ve been slowly acquiring paycheck to paycheck. Even though I don’t have a house anymore, the mortgage payments haven’t magically stopped.

There are some hangers already in the closet, and it’s not long before I have my few things neatly tucked away where they belong. I fill up the desk with some new office supplies, then I sit in my chair.

It’s eerily quiet with Milo coloring somewhere and Hank doing his chores. It’ll be far too easy to get comfortable here.

Around five, after a few extremely productive hours at my new desk, I head into the kitchen to find out if I can help with dinner.

But Hank’s already there, taking a container of marinating tofu out of the fridge.

Meat probably isn’t so easy to eat with big, wide teeth like his, so I’m not surprised when their meal is mostly vegetables and starches.

At his direction, I get the rice going, and then I stand nearby while Hank fries the tofu.

“Milo likes that kind of stuff?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. Kid is a freak of nature. Kind of a health nut without realizing it.” Hank throws some broccoli into the tofu fry for good measure. “I’ve never told him what foods are good and what foods are bad. He just picked what he liked—which means a lot of broccoli and tofu.”

I lean on the counter, watching him. “You’re a really good dad.”

He’s done such a wonderful job raising Milo so far, with love and care. He must have really wanted a child if he was willing to go through DreamTogether.

“I try. Every day.” Hank stirs some soy sauce into the pan. “I feel like there’s so much I could be doing better, but?—”

“You’re doing amazing.”

Hank’s ears tilt back shyly. “Thank you. I knew being a parent would be intense, but I didn’t realize quite how much.”

I remember when Milo came down with the flu, and I thought my heart might burst out of my chest every moment he was in pain.

“I can see why. He needs so much, and you’re the only one that can provide it. It’s a lot of pressure.”

Hank shoots me a surprised look. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m lucky I have Mom to help out, though.”

“And me, too,” I say, and his lips curl in a grin.

“Yeah. And you, too.”

Soon, dinner is ready, and Milo comes thundering down the stairs with five new drawings in hand.

He thrusts them in front of me and insists I tell him what I think.

Hank says that show and tell will have to wait until after dinner, and Milo whines before learning the contents of the meal—and then he hurls himself into a chair and starts spooning it onto his plate.

I’m mesmerized by the messy way he eats, and how Hank tries to help him. Milo asks what I think of the food, and I make sure to gush, so Hank turns his head away and scratches behind his ear.

When we’re all done, I clean up, and wave Hank away when he tries to help. It all feels... natural. Easy. Comforting and warm. I love how Hank’s sweetness emerges when he’s with Milo, how he towers over him while looking through his drawings and complimenting them.

Then I have to hustle away after dinner to make something for Sandra. When I sit down to stay with her while she eats, she waves me off.

“I know that you’re having a nice night with Hank. Go on.”

I give her a grateful smile, and wave as I head back out the door.

At bedtime, Milo insists I go upstairs to read to him, and I can’t possibly turn him down. He picks out a book about a mouse and a strawberry, and I read it to him from cover to cover twice before he falls asleep.

“He really likes you,” Hank says as we exit the room, leaving the door slightly open. “He forced himself to stay awake.”

Tremulous hope swells in my heart. I want Milo to like me. I want all of his little smiles. I remember how he cuddled up against me as I turned the pages of the book, and how his eyes fluttered as he drifted off, and I wouldn’t mind reading to him again and again.

“I like him, too,” I say. “He’s such a sweet kid. You did good.”

Hank nods, but an expression I can’t read crosses his face, and he doesn’t say anything else.

We head to the living room, where Hank flicks on the television and sinks into the big armchair. Immediately, Darla climbs up into his lap, settling herself on one of his thick thighs. He brings up my favorite cooking show, playing the episode before last.

“You like Cooking to the Top , too?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. This season has been great.”

We talk about our favorite competitors as we watch and bet on who will win each challenge.

I’m almost disappointed that Hank is on the chair and not the couch with me, because all I want is to be closer to him.

Seeing him now, remembering how he felt when we were at DreamTogether, my whole body is alert and craving him in a deep, incurable way.

It’s just the pregnancy hormones. I have to be careful of that. Last time, I got pretty emotional, and didn’t always make the best choices.

I have to remember that eventually, when my house is finished, I’ll move out of here—and I want it to be on good terms. That will be much more difficult if things get complicated between us.

When it gets late, I head off to my new bed with a soft mattress and big pillow, and sleep like the dead.