Page 52 of The Sun & Her Burn (Impossible Universe Trilogy #2)

ADAM

W e fell asleep tangled together like puppies.

It was mostly my fault, too.

Linnea had still been reeling from her mother’s episode and I wanted to shelter her with my body and soul, so I tucked her into my side as if I could shield her from the world where we lay. Even though it was foolish, it made me feel better.

It was instinct that had me reaching for Sebastian with the arm I laid my cheek on, extended up over Linnea’s golden hair with my palm open.

He didn’t hesitate to curl around Linnea’s back, one arm draped over her waist and the other meeting mine on that pillow, his thick fingers twining tightly with my own.

When I woke up hours later, it was even worse.

My morning wood was trapped by Linnea, who had rolled on top of me in her sleep and lay draped across my body, her face pressed into my bare chest, her riot of waves half in my face and splayed across my arm.

Sebastian was pressed up tight against my side, his arm still draped over Linnea’s back, his mouth tucked into my neck, breath hot on my pulse point.

I was smothered in them and for one exquisite moment, I luxuriated in it. The peppery warmth of their combined scents, the feel of them both trusting me, drawn to me, in their sleep. I wanted to marinate in this feeling of contentment so I would never forget it.

Instead, I realized what had woken me.

Miranda stood in the doorway to the kitchen with her hair mussed and her robe cinched tightly around her body. There was a clearness in her eyes I recognized even in the shadows of the curtain-drawn room.

“She won’t like this,” she said.

I didn’t have to ask who she was speaking about.

Savannah had been on my mind since the moment Linnea called me breathless with panic to say the paparazzi had staked out her house.

It should have been beneath my ex-wife to call the tip in, but Hank had been a popular call when he lived in London years ago, and Savvy wanted to tip off the press to our whereabouts.

Could she have done it now? Jealous in the wake of bumping into Linnea and me at Nobu?

I wanted to think the best, perhaps because I was spending too much time with a sunbeam of a woman and a star of a man, but my weary, rancid heart suspected I was right.

As soon as I had confirmation from Boone’s team, I would act.

And Savannah would find just how little warmth I retained after the dissolution of our marriage.

Without another word, Miranda shuffled into the kitchen, and I heard the click of the stove turning on.

I figured Linnea would not have been pleased if Miranda burned the house down while I cuddled with her and Sebastian in bed, so I carefully slipped out from their bodies and went to supervise Miranda.

I wasn’t much of a cook, having neither the time nor the desire to do so, hence Bruce.

So, I was relieved when I rooted through the freezer and found a box of Eggo waffles.

Miranda watched me with keen eyes as I set about popping them in the toaster, grabbing syrup from the fridge, and cutting up ripe mangos from a bowl on the counter.

“You seem to be feeling better this morning,” I ventured casually.

She sniffed and tugged the robe tighter around her. “My mind’s like Swiss cheese. Even when I ‘feel better,’ it’s hell because I know it won’t last.”

My gut cramped with sympathy I was surprised to feel toward Miranda, who had always been a slightly ditzy, irritating figure in my life as Savannah’s best friend.

Even though her voice was still light and airy, a steeliness had emerged behind her words that was new.

Degenerative illness left its mark on everyone involved, and I could sense Miranda’s bitterness as if it lingered in the air.

I didn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” I said honestly, as I washed my hands of mango stickiness and then rested my hips against the counter to face her. “You and I were never close, but I hope you know I’m here for you. And Linnea.”

She scoffed, her features twisted up into something ugly. “Linnea, maybe.”

I shrugged slightly. “Linnea loves you, and I care about her so, yes, I am here for you, too.”

“The girl just feels guilty that I’m sick,” she mumbled, staring at a torn hangnail. “I wasn’t a good mother or anything.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed because I had no sympathy for her in that regard. “But you did something right to raise such a good woman, even if it was to give custody to her father. She won’t abandon you.”

Something about my word choice seemed to resonate with her because tears pooled in her lower lids, and she glanced sharply away from me. Her mouth tightened in an effort to keep the emotions locked down.

“She never comes to see me,” she whispered.

I knew without asking that she meant Savannah.

“She has never been brave enough to deal with the ugliness of life,” I said plainly. “You know her well enough to know that.”

Miranda shrugged tightly and huddled deeper within her robe. “I miss her.”

“Sometimes, I miss her, too,” I admitted. “But then I’m grateful she’s gone because it left room for me to let new, better people into my life.”

“Like Linnea.”

“Yes,” I agreed easily.

“You’ll leave us both when you see what this is like.” She indicated herself with a trembling hand and sneer before it collapsed into a pout. “What I’m like.”

“I had a front-row seat last night,” I noted mildly. “And I’m still here. In fact, this morning, I’m going to move you and Linnea into my house with me. It’s time that someone looked after you both .”

Miranda’s gaze snapped up to mine, and her hand moved to cover her mouth as if she could hide her shock and relief from me. The tears in her eyes spilled over, splashing over her hand and the laminate table.

It had been a long time, before last night, since I had consoled anyone, but I found myself stalking across the kitchen to crouch before her, pulling Miranda forward with a gentle hand on her shoulder so her forehead was pressed into my shoulder.

One of her hands clutched my bicep with a shakiness that spoke of weakness and her desire to grip me even harder than she was able to.

As if she was worried I would disappear.

“Don’t leave us like everyone else,” she begged with a broken whisper.

“I won’t,” I promised, and I meant it.

When I glanced up from our embrace a couple of minutes later, Linnea had stood in the doorframe, her hair a tousled cloud around her drowsy face. The expression on her face was worth painting, and I wished I had the talent to translate it to a medium that could never expire.

Because it was beautifully trusting. As if she knew I would do everything in my power to protect and care for them both.

It had been a very long time since anyone had depended on me for more than just a salary or a stellar acting performance, and I found the responsibility filled me up like sunshine.

“I won’t,” I said again, this time for.

And when she smiled at me, I had to blink away the sunspots.

Linnea took over with her mother after that, hustling her back into her room to bathe and dress because the movers would arrive in just over an hour, and there was a mass of things to do before then.

Seb woke up and ambled into the kitchen, shuffling his feet with his eyes half closed as he went instantly to the coffee pot I had brewed and helped himself.

He’d made a face at the contents, complaining in a thicker-than-usual Italian accent that drip coffee was schifoso .

Disgusting. We ate standing up in the kitchen, discussing the particulars of the day as we got the Hildebrand/Kai women moved in, and I loved the casual intimacy of it.

It felt like we were, once more, on the same page.

The awkwardness was gone, but not the angst, which lingered on the back of my tongue like a bad aftertaste.

Things were not truly resolved between us, not when I wanted him with a fierceness that clouded my judgment, not when I could not have him, just as I could not have had him before.

Having Sebastian meant giving up everything I had ever worked for.

It meant the same for him, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not.

It was romantic to think about sacrificing everyone for a loved one, but it was something only done in films and novels. Not in real life when the stakes were staggeringly high.

Or so I told myself as I stared at his mouth while it moved sensually around the words he spoke and at his strong, tanned hands as they moved through the air, highlighting his speech.

Moreover, while he had expressed interest in being friends once more and seemed just as attracted to me as I was still to him, he hadn’t said anything about wanting the kind of love and commitment he’d yearned for a decade ago.

We had both changed so much since then, maybe he didn’t yearn for a love that moved the stars and the sky the way he once had.

But I seriously doubted it.

And a small, greedy, dastardly part of me wondered why he might not want it with me anymore even though I knew I didn’t deserve it after how I had treated him.

I told myself to be grateful to have even this with him, sipping coffee once more in the morning together and talking about our lives as if it was our right to know everything about each other again.

It was enough.

It had to be.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Chaucer arrived with the moving crew promptly at ten in the morning, holding her tablet in hand and wearing an earbud to communicate with whomever she needed to speak to over the course of the move.

She was frightening in her efficiency, coordinating the burly men, Sebastian, Linnea, and me until everything was designated for my Carbon Beach house, a storage unit we’d rented out, or a donation to the local wildfire survivors’ charity.

Within eight hours, Miranda was settled in the guesthouse with her most essential items and three nurses who eased Linnea’s nerves by answering her many, many questions.