13. Thirteen

Thirteen

Carson

As I pull out of the driveway and head home. I glance back at Connor. My son's eyes are heavy, but he's fighting sleep. We stayed late. Sitting around the fire pit eating s'mores and talking.

I glance over at Anna, who seems strangely quiet. I could tell something was bothering her tonight. "You okay?" I ask her. She avoids my eyes, "I'm fine. Your family seems nice. Very close-knit," she murmurs.

"Yeah, we are," I glance over at her again, but she turns to look out the window. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter, but I don't push. It's a silent ride home.

Once I unlock the door, Anna puts her arm around Connor, who is stumbling and half asleep. He finally mumbles, "Night," and walks into his bedroom. Later, we hear him in the bathroom. I go into his bedroom to say goodnight, and he's already dead to the world. I lean down and pull the covers over him.

After I close his door, I turn around to feel Anna slam into me. She stumbles and teeters backward. I quickly reach out, grab her arms, and pull her toward me to break her fall.

I almost groan when her soft curves collide with my hard body, which is getting harder. She's so close I can smell the scent of lavender in her hair. I feel her soft breasts pressed against my chest. My body's involuntary response is an unwelcome reaction to her nearness.

For one moment, I keep her held tight against me as I breathe her in. Then I force my arms to loosen so she can step back. My eyes rake over her white cotton cami and those ridiculously feminine shorts. I can see the dark shadow of her nipples through the thinness of the fabric. I swear they harden into peaks as my eyes catch on them. I pull in a ragged breath as I firmly put distance between us.

I feel my face harden as I struggle to control my intense desire. It burns through my gut, swift and sharp. I abruptly drop my hands as I step back. I don't even ask if she's alright. Instead, I turn quickly around and make a beeline for my bedroom.

As the door closes behind me, I grimace. Then I walk directly to the shower and turn it on. I put the water on cold and then reach in and turn it warmer. I quickly shed my clothes, step in, and soap up.

I grit my teeth as I reach down to take care of my uncomfortable hard-on. As the steam clouds around me, I stroke myself with one hand, the other pressed hard against the shower wall.

As I groan low in my throat, I get an image of Anna, her head thrown back, her eyes cloudy as she comes on my hard cock. Only as I crawl between the sheets do I realize her image was how she looks now, not her face as it was eleven years ago. I am so fucked.

I wake up to the sound of heavy and persistent rain lashing against the window. I stretch before peering out at the morning, shrouded in gray. I look up and see heavy storm clouds rolling overhead. Outside, the world is slick and glistening; it must have rained for most of the night.

Turning, I try to shake off my melancholy mood, which mirrors the dismal downpour of the relentless raindrops that stream past my window.

My steps feel heavy as I walk toward the kitchen. The rich aroma of coffee beckons me on. Anna stands rigid at the stove, her back to me. The only sound is the sizzle of bacon hitting the hot pan.

She pauses for a fleeting moment when she hears me at the coffee pot. However, she doesn't turn around as I pour myself a cup. The aroma of coffee, usually a comfort, does little to dispel the knot of unease in my stomach.

Connor rounds the corner, a frown marring his youthful face. "Why the sour face, Connor?" I manage a smile, getting down plates and handing them to him.

"It's raining," he mutters as if that explains everything. I hide a grin, remembering how I used to hate being cooped up when it rained, but that was before the wonderful invention of video games.

"Actually," I casually say, "I think I have a PlayStation around here somewhere."

Connor's eyes gleam. "You do? Where?"

"In my closet. I'll dig it out after breakfast. Deal?"

"Deal!" The frown vanishes in a flash, replaced by a bright smile as he bounces around, setting out the silverware. I shake my head, wishing I could change my mood as easily as he does.

Anna hasn't spoken a word to me this morning. Not a greeting, not a single glance in my direction. Part of me understands. Last night's chance meeting in the hall was a bombshell to my equilibrium and self-control. I can't blame her for steering clear of me.

Does she sense my frustration at what happened or what could have happened last night? I study her as she continues to deftly flip pancakes and fry up the bacon. I go over to the microwave and get out the warm syrup. No matter how she may feel toward me, she certainly doesn't let it affect the way she cares for me.

A guy could get used to hot breakfasts and home-cooked meals. We're all seated around the table and soon filling up on the golden-brown pancakes and crispy bacon. Anna again has three fried eggs on a plate for me, I notice with an appreciative grin.

Connor, bless his heart, seems oblivious to the tension. He grumbles about the rain but barely looks up from his plate. Almost as soon as we're done eating, Anna looks over at Connor, carefully avoiding my eyes. "I know you're dying to get to the video games, so go ahead. I'll take care of the cleanup."

Relief washes over me, a temporary reprieve from the awkward silence.

The rest of the morning melts away in a blur of button-mashing and friendly competition. Damn, the kid's good! He dodges and weaves through the virtual world with an agility that puts my aging reflexes to shame.

"Hey, Connor, we're tied!" I shout over the roar of the virtual battlefield, my hands still on the controller. "But you've won the last two rounds. You're a natural. Quick reflexes, sharp mind."

I turn and give him a high-five. A blush creeps up his cheeks, and his eyes practically sparkle. "Thanks, Dad," he mumbles with a hint of pride in his voice. "You're not too bad yourself... for an old guy."

I blink, a chuckle escaping my lips. Damn, if he isn't right. Compared to his ten years, I'm practically ancient. Still, his words warm me; they carry an acceptance that tugs at my heartstrings.

By lunchtime, thankfully, the relentless drumming on the roof finally seems to be tapering off. A weak stream of watery sunlight appears, peeking through the clouds and catching Connor's eye.

"Hey, it's stopped raining!" he exclaims, pointing excitedly towards the window. "Look, the sun's out."

It's a welcome change. Maybe a change of scenery is called for. That might be exactly what our unconventional family needs to break the tension. Simmering emotions seem to clog the air whenever Anna and I are in the same room, making it hard even to breathe.

"Great idea, Son," I reply, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "What do you say we give your mom a break from cooking and grab some lunch out?"

Connor practically rockets out of his chair. "Great!" he shouts, his enthusiasm echoing through the house. "Mom, Dad wants to go out for lunch!"

Anna's voice filters in from the kitchen, seeming muffled by the clatter of pots and pans. "Sure, that sounds good," she replies. But the forced cheer in her tone doesn't escape me.

The past few hours have been a whirlwind of domesticity—the shared breakfast and the video games with Connor. It's been… pleasant, a glimpse into a life I never dared to dream of. But Anna's silence, her studious avoidance of my gaze, hangs heavy in the air.

With a touch of frustration, I follow Connor into the kitchen. The room itself seems unchanged, the stringent aroma of cleaning solution replacing the earlier scent of bacon and coffee. But from where I stand, I can't quite see what Anna's been working on all morning.

Is she just cleaning and re-organizing the kitchen? Or is she doing it to avoid me? I grimace. Can I blame her? Isn't that what I was doing by playing video games all morning? At least it allowed me to bond with my son.

My eyes rake over her. I see the small frown lines between her clear gray eyes, and she looks… stressed. This can't be easy for her. They are having to move again. And she's being forced to share her son.

Shame washes over me, hot and unwelcome. I haven't really made things easy for her. With a sigh that rumbles deep within me, I make a silent vow. I have to try, for both our sakes, to navigate this minefield of emotions and make things smoother and less stressful - for both of us.

Her brow furrows in concentration, and she bites her lower lip. Stress shadows her eyes, but beneath it, I think I see a flicker of something else – a flicker of uncertainty?

She's as uncomfortable as I am. Maybe there is a chance for us to navigate this together.

"Anna," I start to move forward, my voice low and tentative. "Let me help you with that." It's a small gesture, a tentative offering of support, but it feels like a significant step forward.

Her eyes flicker to mine with a tinge of surprise. Then, a tentative smile graces her lips, taking the olive branch I'm offering. "Thanks," she murmurs, her voice softer than usual. "I wanted to move these pans to the lower shelf."

As I navigate around her in the cramped kitchen, our arms brush accidentally. It sends awareness slicing through me. An attraction that leaves me seeking more oxygen as I take in a deep breath. I grit my teeth, willing myself to focus on the task at hand. Grasping the heavy pans, I carefully transfer them to the lower shelf, keeping my movements controlled.

Once I'm finished, I step back. I glance around the kitchen, my gaze landing on the step stool she recently purchased from Amazon, now sitting in the pantry. A light bulb seems to turn on in my head. I reach for the cabinet knobs, opening a few to find them reorganized. She's relocated things, so they are all within her reach.

It dawns on me – she wasn't just avoiding me. She's settling in. She's carving out a space for herself within my home. I nod in silent understanding.

"You've been busy. This is really coming together," I say to her with an approving glance. She gives me a tentative smile. And suddenly, everything between us seems normal again. Then she turns around with a quick, "Let me just move this one skillet."

As she steps toward the still-open lower cabinet, I get a whiff of her lavender scent, which is uniquely hers. She bends over, her back to me, and instantly, my eyes go to her firm, rounded backside. My eyes linger on her sweet ass for a few minutes too long. And all my carefully controlled plans go instantly out the window. As my body wants to grab her by her hips—I suddenly hear a slight sound and remember Connor is with us, sitting at the kitchen counter.

He's doodling on a pad. Innocently unaware of the now different tension that wants to overtake my good intentions. Needing to resist it, I abruptly turn, walk out of the kitchen, and grab my keys.

"Everybody ready? Let's get out of here."