Page 97 of This Kind of Forever

“Holy shit,” he breathes. One hand is braced beside my head as his chest heaves.

“That was…”Mindblowing.

“Yeah.” He looks down at me, looks down at the mess he made on my skin, and groans. “Fuck, Hallie.”

He swipes a finger through his release, drags it up my sternum, then swirls it around my nipple, painting it in cum. I whimper.

“What do you think the chances are that there’s some hot water now?” he asks.

I shake my head. After that, I have no concept of time. I feel boneless.

Gabe turns the shower on and checks the temperature. Once he deems it safe, he pulls me back in with him. We make quick work of washing off, no funny business this time, because neither of us is interested in being blasted with cold water again.

After we dry off and get dressed, we head downstairs. The pasta I cooked is lukewarm at this point, but we dish it up and sit down on the couch. I throw my legs over Gabe’s lap, and he turns the TV on, and all is right in the world again.

Except for this nagging thought in the back of my mind.

As much as Gabe says he isn’t afraid of more with me, everything about this situation we’re in is messy enough. And if I’m honest, the idea of him wanting that with me scares me as much as it comforts me.

You are exactly like your mama, and men don’t stay with women like us.

THIRTY-FOUR

GABE

It isn’tuncommon for me to come home to an empty house these days. Even with Abbie at her mom’s house half the time, I figured I’d at least have Hallie here, but generally, if she isn’t at work, she’s out in the guesthouse.

Today is no exception. After an initial sweep, I find the kitchen and living room empty. Same with the guest room where Hallie still keeps her clothes.

I take a quick shower to rinse off the workday, then set out in search of Hallie. When I come down the stairs, I find her phone sitting on the kitchen island. It’s ringing, and just when it seems to stop, it starts up again.

The caller ID says Amanda. Hallie’s mom.

The latest call goes to voicemail, and that’s when I notice all the notifications littering Hallie’s lock screen. Her mom has been texting her, too.

Amanda

You’re really going to ignore your own mother?

I know I wasn’t perfect but I wasn’t that bad. You’re fine. You survived.

You’ve always been ungrateful. Even after everything I went through for you.

I force myself to stop reading. Those texts aren’t for me, for one thing, but they also make me feel sick. I can’t imagine my mom sending texts like those, even if we were having some kind of disagreement. Knowing that this is what Hallie has been dealing with for years—for most of her life, really—makes me all the more determined to show her she belongs with us. My mom is more than willing to claim her.

The walk through the backyard is a chilly one. November has set in fully now, and with it, the cold. Hallie’s phone rings again in my hand, but I quickly put it on silent.

“Hey, baby,” I say, letting myself into the guesthouse.

Hallie turns from her easel, smiling at me. “Hey, handsome.”

“What are you working on?”

The guesthouse itself is kind of in limbo. Although it’s clean and has a new coat of paint, and Hallie finished the accent wall, the plumbing still doesn’t work. After Hallie moved inside, I didn’t think it mattered much. But since she’s been using it as a studio lately, I know I need to call someone to get it fixed.

“Carole’s friends needed a painting done,” she explains. “Their mom’s house from when she was a kid.” She gestures to the reference photo tacked up beside the canvas. “What do you think?”

The photo is in black and white, showcasing an old farmhouse not unlike my own childhood home. The buildinglooks worn, lived in. There’s even a cat sleeping on the front porch.