14. Mira

14

MIRA

This can be good.

This is good.

Zane told me I can take all the time I need. He told me he'd be patient with me. He told me that he loved me, for crying out loud!

So why does it feel like I'm drowning?

I look over and Zane is still asleep. One arm is tossed over his head and his chest is golden and obnoxiously perfect in the sliver of light cutting through the blinds. He hasn't slept in this bed for an entire night since he brought me back from the motel.

At least one of us is doing better.

I clench my teeth and stare up at the ceiling. I'm doing fine, I insist silently to the whirring fan. I'm doing great, I inform the shadows.

The problem isn't Zane or whether or not I love him—because I do. I know I do.

The problem isn't even whether I want to be here or not. Because, again, I do.

The problem is that I went from being chronically single, bordering on full-time hermit, to this . To sleeping in a bed with a man who can make my toes curl just by looking at me. To taking care of his son, who is feeling more and more like our son with every passing hour.

I went from the relationship equivalent of a kiddy pool to fighting for my life in the open ocean that is Zane's unending patience with my bullshit. My "bullshit" being an unhinged brother with homicidal tendencies and a loose regard for the law.

"Mira?"

The little whisper no more than three inches from my ear almost stops my heart. I jolt like someone shocked me with defibrillator paddles and sit up to find Aiden standing next to my bed.

"Oh my God." I press a hand to my chest. "You really are like a ninja. Where did you come from?"

Aiden looks at me like I've lost it. "My room."

I chuckle. Ask stupid questions… "Do you need something, bud? It's early."

"I'm hungry," he whines. "I want pancakes. Your pancakes. The ones shaped like a mouse."

I saw the recipe in a kid's magazine in his therapist's waiting room and snapped a picture. As soon as I showed him, pancakes in any other shape were a disgrace. Mouse pancakes or bust.

It's been almost a month since I've made them. For some reason, I'm surprised he remembers.

I glance behind me and Zane is still asleep. I'm glad; he needs the rest.

I slide my legs to the side of the bed so Aiden and I can sneak downstairs, but then I stop. I remember Zane's wide eyes last night after I woke him up. He was shaking when he grabbed me and kissed me. He watched me like he thought I'd disappear.

If he finally sleeps through the night and then wakes up to an empty bed, he'll freak.

So I gently wake him.

Despite how much he's already slept through, his eyes pop right open. As soon as they settle on me, a lazy smile curls the corners of his mouth. "Good morning."

See? Toes = curled.

He fists his hand in the back of my shirt and tugs. "Maybe before Aiden wakes up, we can?—"

"Too late," I squeak. I shift to the side so Zane can see Aiden.

He lets me go like I'm on fire and grins at his son. "Mornin', little man. What's going on?"

"Mira is gonna make pancakes! Mouse pancakes. With lots of syrup. And whipped cream. And chocolate chips. And?—"

I whip around and tickle his side. Aiden squirms away, giggling. "You're going to get me in trouble with your dad."

Zane leans over and kisses the back of my shoulder. Awareness zips down my spine. "That all sounds good to me, actually."

Aiden grins. "We can do it?"

Zane gives him a thumbs up. "We can do it."

Aiden bounces around like a jackrabbit until Zane scoops him up and wears him like a scarf down to the kitchen. I help Aiden crack his first-ever eggs and Zane lets him pour an ungodly amount of chocolate chips into the pancake batter.

Half of the pancakes come out looking like birds that smashed into a window, but Aiden calls them all mice, anyway, and gives each one a whipped cream smile.

"Because we're all so happy," he explains, beaming down at his handiwork.

I bite back yet another completely inappropriate sob. It was so easy to enjoy time with Aiden and Zane before, because I knew it had an expiration date. I didn't need to sort through the sewage of my childhood trauma or overcome any demons because I was always, always going to leave. That was the plan.

Now, the plan is…

Well, we don't have a plan. Not explicitly. Not one that extends beyond stuffing ourselves with pancakes and spending at least an hour cleaning flour out from between the tiles on the floor.

It's hard to have a plan for the rest of your life.

The rest of my life . If I'm out here treading water, those words are a life preserver. They're a little break in the storm.

I want to do this for the rest of my life.

But I'm not sure I can.

After breakfast, Zane runs Aiden a bath. It always takes twenty minutes to convince him to get in the water, then an hour to convince him to get out. By the time Zane walks back to the kitchen, I can hear Aiden splashing and doing different voices for all of his plastic sharks.

"I don't think any of the syrup made it into his body. It's all on his face."

"That might be for the best. His sugar crash is going to be epic from the chocolate chips alone," I point out.

Zane leans against the counter next to me, arms crossed casually. He's wearing sweats and a plain tee and I'd slap him on any fitness magazine in existence. Actually, I'd rip him out of said magazine and tape him to my wall.

"I should've skipped the chocolate chips," he muses. "After pizza and ice cream and barely working out this last week, practice tomorrow is going to kick my ass."

"You're going back to practice?" I don't mean for my voice to sound so panicked. I'm not panicking.

I knew Zane would go back to work eventually. I just thought we'd have a little more time before real life came knocking.

He turns towards me, and I slap on a smile. "Good for you, I mean," I say hastily. "I'm glad you're getting back into the swing of things."

His brow arches. "‘ The swing of things'? "

"Yeah. Routine, sleeping, practice. It's good. Really good." I look down and realize I've been scrubbing the same sparklingly clean pan since Zane walked into the kitchen. "Great, even."

"Sure. I can tell by the way you keep saying it. It's very convincing." Zane gently pries the pan out of my hands and flicks the water off. I'm reluctant, but there's no way to resist when he pulls me against him. "One truth per day?"

"We already did one for today."

He wrinkles his nose. "The sun is up, so it's a new day. Do you have one?"

I chew on my bottom lip and try to pull something out of the tangled-up mess in my head. "I had fun this morning. This was nice."

Confusing and existential-crisis-inducing… but nice.

"I had fun, too."

"Is that your truth? Because you're kind of piggybacking off of me. It's a bit lazy."

His eyes narrow and he twists my shirt in his hands, arching me closer to him. "I am anything but lazy. You're gonna eat those words later tonight."

Goosebumps bloom down my arms. "Okay, then what's your truth?"

"I'm glad we're all home." Zane tucks my hair behind my ear. "Where we belong."