Alex chuckles. “Flower, first, you’ve been having the only sex of your life, so technically it’s the best and the worst. Second, it can be used as an adjunct to all the kink you and neighbor boy have already been doing.”

I bite at the peeling skin on my lower lip. “That’s what Oli alluded to as well. So, how does that work. I use it in front of him? He uses it on me? I use it on him?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. You guys into anal?”

“What?” I gasp.

She shrugs while draining the pasta. “It was just a question.”

“Anal me or anal him … or … ugh, never mind! No to both anyway. How could you even ask me that?”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Maybe you should watch a little guy-on-guy porn. It’s hot as in capital H.O.T. It might change your mind.”

“You are definitely Maggie’s niece. Are your parents into this stuff too?”

“Ooo, yuck, gross! Why did you say that? Now when I see them it’s all I’m going to think about.”

Yeah, like my images of her tied to her bed and Sean in chaps and a cowboy hat.

“Think about what? Your mom wearing a strap-on penis? ‘Spread ’em, Mark. You’ve been a naughty boy.’ ‘Harder, Annabelle!’”

“STOP!” Alex squeezes her eyes shut and sticks her fingers in her ears while stomping her feet.

I laugh. “That’s for not locking your door before the rodeo.” I steal another cookie. “I’m going to unpack then go see Oliver.”

“I’m going to vomit then have a voluntary lobotomy!” She slings a sticky piece of spaghetti at me as I head toward the stairs.

* * *

I skip down the front steps. Glass scars? What glass scars? A pang of disappointment hits me when I see Chance’s truck still there. Maybe he’ll take the hint and leave when he sees me salivating through labored breaths at his brother.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

I hear voices as I near the stairs. They become clearer as I tiptoe my way upstairs.

“I think you should stop drinking.”

“Why?”

“Well, once you pass out the party is over.”

“I didn’t pass out … I took a nap.”

“You passed out.”

“How would you know? You’re wasted too.” Oliver chuckles.

“I’m not drunk.”

“You broke your ax on my door.”

“Okay, I’m a little wasted.”

“Viv-i-an’s going to be here … soon. You should go.”

“You should let her go. You’re fucked-up and you’re just going to break her heart.”

“You’re right—”

“He’s right?” I turn the corner at the top of the stairs, startling both of them. “Is that what I heard you say?” My jaw clenches while I squint at him. “I thought we had this conversation! Stop jerking me around. Either you want to be with me or you don’t. But I’m fed up with you acting like some martyr willing to give me up even if it kills you just because you think it’s best for me. Either you’re in or out! So what’s it going to be?”

He struggles to stand up, but falls right back down on his butt. Chance laughs.

“What’s so goddamn funny? What’s wrong with the two of you? Why are you both sitting in the hall, drunk off your asses, in the middle of the day?” I look to my left at the door. There’s an ax stuck in it with the handle broken off. I pull the key out of my pocket and dangle it in front of them. “Seems a little less destructive than an ax, don’t you think?”

Oliver goes to grab it, but I pull it away. “Why do you have my key?”

“I slipped it in my pocket the other day and forgot it was there. I have it now because I was planning on returning it. Now answer me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as if that’s going to help him sober up. “What was the question again?”

“Ugh! Are you keeping me or cutting me loose? Why are you both drunk? And what the hell is the meaning behind the pillow with a photo of your dead daughter sitting on top of it in the middle of an otherwise empty room?” I point to the door.

Chance looks at Oliver. “Bro, you kept the pil—”

“Get out!” Oliver grits through his teeth.

“That’s so fuc—”

“GET. OUT!”

Chance crawls to his feet and stumbles to the stairs.

“Don’t you dare drive home,” I say to Chance, still glaring at Oliver.

“I’ll call for a ride,” he replies on his way down the stairs.

Oliver bows his head and rubs his temples. “My head is killing me. So pick one.”

“What?”

“Pick the question that matters most right now.”

I kneel down between his bent legs. He looks up at me with heart-wrenching emotion in his glossy blue eyes.

“Are you letting me go?” I whisper with such fear of his answer smacking me in the face.

“Never.”

I nod. “Okay then.” Releasing a sigh of desperate relief, we embrace like we’re holding on for life.

* * *

My back screams in protest while my body temperature approaches boiling point. We’re still in the hallway. Oliver has half his body draped over mine and his head is on my chest. I’m not sure how long we’ve been asleep, hopefully long enough for the alcohol to clear his system.

“Oli?” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair.

He mumbles something.

“Oli, wake up.”

He lifts his head just enough to see my eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Choosing me.”

I smile. “I think it was the other way around.”

“No, when you chose us over my past … you chose me.”

“I’ll always choose you. No take backs, remember.”

“No take backs.” He grins and rolls me on top of him. “You didn’t let me finish earlier.” I close my eyes when his lips brush across mine. “I should let you go, but you’ve become my sunrise. I need you when the darkness threatens to take over.”

“When is that?”

“Always.”

Oh, Oli …

Our faces are as close as they can be without actually touching.

“You’re staring at my freckles.” I rub my nose against his.

“Because they’re so damn cute.”

“Shut up. Dimples are cute. Freckles are spotty, patchy, and messy.”

“Messy?” He laughs.

“Yeah, like I’m messy right now and sweaty. I need a shower.”

“Bath?”

I grin and nod.

We fill the tub … too much, thanks to us both being incapable of keeping our hands off the other when we’re naked.

“We’re going to have a mess to clean up by the time we get out,” I say as I ease in the water between his legs. I love his deep claw-foot tub.

“We’ll add it to the messy list with your freckles.”

“Ha, ha!” I lean back against his chest and skim my fingers over his legs.

“So how did the weekend go?”

“Great, actually. I feel free. The painful weight of lying to my parents for the past two years has been lifted. They felt bad that I thought I needed to protect them from the truth, but they weren’t mad.”

“And your adulterous boyfriend?”

I laugh. “They think we’re both insane, but they get it.”

“Get it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How much did you tell them?”

“I told them your wife is mentally ill because your baby died. It’s tragic and something I’m sure you don’t want the whole world to know, but they’re my parents and I had to explain the situation.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Are you mad?”

He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “No … I’m not mad.”

After twenty minutes of silence and the dropping water temperature evoking goose bumps, we get out. I wrap my towel around myself and comb through my hair while Oliver goes into the bedroom.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I say while grabbing one of his T-shirts from the drawer and slipping it on.

He sits on the edge of the bed in just his briefs with his head bowed. “I’d been working late … a lot. Being the youngest lawyer at the firm meant long hours. We both knew that when I took the position. That’s the reason I looked for a job in Portland, so her parents would be close by to help when the baby came.”

He’s telling me everything and I can’t move. I want to sit next to him, hold his hand … something, but I’m frozen in front of the dresser, just feet away from him, completely paralyzed.

“She went into labor at five in the morning two weeks before her due date. They ended up doing a C-section. Melanie was tiny but so…” his voice cracks “…strong.” He shakes his head. “God, she was so strong. Caroline had a tough recovery, but her mom stayed with us to help out. The partners at the firm insisted I take a week off and work from home. I thought we were good, tired and exhausted, but good.”

Silence settles over the room. I don’t know if he’s looking for the right words or the right amount of courage. Forcing my body to find its own courage, I move closer and kneel on the floor by the bed, resting my head on his leg. His hand moves to my hair and he runs his fingers through it in slow methodic strokes.

“I went back to work, but her parents came to help every day over the next couple months. They encouraged her to take a shower, a walk, even run an errand or two just to have a break. One day she would scrub the kitchen floor then the next she didn’t want to get out of bed. Her doctor said it was postpartum depression, fairly common. Her mom thought she was starting to hallucinate, but I never saw that side of her. Then again, I wasn’t home much. Melanie was usually asleep by the time I got home, so my only interaction was when she woke in the night, but even then Caroline was usually up. She hardly slept.”

He laughs, it’s a painful, maybe even an angry laugh. “It wasn’t postpartum depression, it was postpartum psychosis. Did you know that point one percent of women get it? And even then, less than five percent of that point one percent are suicidal or …” He swallows and takes a deep breath.