Kristen Ashley - Own the Wind

She got him, he knew when her entire face wobbled as she tried to hold back tears, then she lifted her head and pressed it into the skin of his neck when she failed.

Shy dropped his weight on her, rolled, curving his arms around her and taking her with him so they were on their sides.

She yanked her face out of his neck, took two hitched breaths and asked brokenly, “Are you… are you all right?”

“Best I’ve been in a long time, baby.”

She took another uneven breath as her eyes moved over his face. Then she nodded.

“You gave me that, Tabby,” he reminded her, and she gave him another wobbly smile she couldn’t quite pull off.

“That’s what I was goin’ for,” she told him.

He grinned at her and pulled her closer.

His grin faded and he admitted, “I was a dick again.”

“I’ll forgive you sooner this time, like, say—” her hand slid up so her fingers could stroke his jaw “—now.”

His lips twitched. “It’d help for me to know I got your forgiveness, you quit cryin’.”

She nodded, breathed deep, and got it together.

“Are you…” she hesitated “… good with the Club?”

It was Shy’s turn to nod.

“Good,” she said softly, ducked her face, and shoved it in his throat.

He dipped his chin and against her hair, murmured, “Gotta clean you up then I gotta call Lan.”

“Okay.”

He kissed her hair, rolled her to her back, moved in to kiss her chest then the underside of her jaw, then he met her eyes, gave her a smile, and rolled out of bed.

He got a washcloth and took care of his girl. He took the washcloth back, grabbed his jeans, tagged his phone, and joined her in bed.

She snuggled closer.

He called his brother.

Shy told Lan the story, not leaving anything out, which meant Tabby heard the story. She pressed closer and closer as he talked but she didn’t make a sound.

When he was done, Lan asked, “Tab’s wearin’ Mom’s earrings?”

“Yeah,” Shy answered.

“Fuck, man,” a pause then low, rough and fragmented, “fuck.”

Shy gave him a few beats then asked low, “You okay?”

Landon cleared his throat. “Forgot about those. Totally blocked ’em out. Cannot believe you got them. Cannot believe I forgot them.” He was silent a moment then he said, “Glad you got them back, Park. Fuck me, so fuckin’ glad you got Mom and Dad back from that bitch.”

“Next time you come up, we’ll divvy them out.”

“Right, works for me.”

Neither brother spoke for a long time. They also didn’t break their connection.

Tabby burrowed closer.

Finally, Shy announced. “It’s done.”

“Done,” Lan agreed.

“Over,” Shy went on.

“Now we can move on,” Lan replied.

Shy tightened his arm around Tabby and repeated, “Now we can move on.”

“You know I love you, Parker, and that shit runs deep,” Lan told him.

“Feel the same, Landon.”

“Never forgot what we had, still miss it,” Lan shared.

“Then do what I’m doin’, Lan, and rebuild it.”

There was silence, a short chuckle, and then finally, “Not sure I’m done havin’ fun.”

Shy tipped his chin down to see the top of Tabby’s head, her profile, her eyes open staring at his throat, her hand at his chest, fingers drifting aimlessly but soothingly, giving him time with his brother but not giving him space, something at that moment he did not need.

“That’s your problem, brother, you don’t get that this side is a fuckuva lot more fun,” he returned.

“Take a little somethin’ special to convince me of that,” Lan retorted.

“God, I hope you find it,” Shy replied.

Lan was silent, then Shy got a quiet “Me too, Park.”

They let that hang, then Shy said, “Lettin’ you go.”

“Right. I’ll find some time to come up for a weekend.”

“Cool, see you then.”

“Yeah… and Park?”

“Yeah?”

“You did right, you did good, now they can rest easy.”

They can rest easy.

Shy felt his throat close so he had to force through it, “Yeah.”

“See you in a coupla weeks.”

“Later, Lan.”

“Later, brother.”

He touched his thumb to the screen, twisted just enough to throw his phone on the nightstand, then reached out to turn off the light and rolled into Tabby.

She snuggled closer, hitching her leg back over his hip, her arm winding tight around him.

“You good?” he asked into the dark.

He felt her nod then she asked, “How you feelin’, honey?”

He thought about her question and the answer was fucked. It made no sense. He had a woman wrapped around him, trapping him to a bed. He was facing a mortgage payment. He had plans to plant babies inside her, build a family.

Still, there was only one answer and he dipped his chin, put his lips to her hair, and whispered that answer into her hair.

“Free.”

At his answer, his girl, his gorgeous girl, pressed even closer.

Shy Cage never dreamed a dream.

Still, he knew, without a doubt since he was holding one in his arms, dreams were real.

Tightrope

Four months later…

“How were they?” Tyra asked in a whisper, running her finger lightly along a sleeping Cutter’s cheek as he lay in bed.

“Exhausting,” I replied. She turned her head and smiled at me, unrepentant that her two offspring were hellions.

Then she looked back down to Cutter and pulled the covers up to his shoulder. “Like you and Rush, they both got their dad’s hair, so I know where they got their temperament.”

I was glad they got Dad’s temperament along with his hair, though both of them had Tyra’s green eyes. If either of them added Tyra’s hair and the temperament that came with it with some of Dad thrown in, we’d be screwed.

“Happened again tonight,” I said. Tyra straightened from Cut and looked at me with brows raised, so I went on, “Took them out for dinner and a couple of people commented. They think they belong to Shy and me.” I looked down at my little brother. “Those green eyes, that hair.”

“I see that,” she murmured. I looked to her and grinned before I started moving to the door, Tyra coming with me, saying, “Fun to pretend, though, also time to plan.”

I watched as she carefully closed the door behind her but, at her words, my brows drew together and when she turned from the door and looked at me, she smiled.

“Playing house, honey,” she explained. “You and Shy have been together awhile. You’ve done the living-together thing. You’ve done the holidays-together thing. You’ve done the buying-the-house together thing. You’ve fought out the buying-a-fridge-together thing. When’s the next step?”

She was not wrong.

With Ty-Ty’s help, I gave Shy and Lan an awesome Christmas. We had a blast. I could tell both men enjoyed it, and the things they enjoyed most were waking up to two overexcited little boys who were in fits that Santa came and, later, sitting down to a huge dinner that tasted great, family all around, food and beer plentiful, conversation free and easy, and laughter coming often.

It was a blessing, they felt it, and neither man hid it.

It was awesome.

As for Shy, I learned he also gave good Christmases. His version of this was handing me my present right in front of everybody, his eyes locked to mine, his lips murmuring, “Every year.”

In the box was a pair of sapphire earrings.

Of course, I burst into tears but luckily, doing that on Christmas with family close meant I got Shy’s arms around me to comfort me, my little brother Cutter crawling into my lap to do the same thing and, not long after, my father bending deep to brush his lips against my hair to do the same thing.

There were tears but that didn’t negate the fact that it… was… fabulous.

Then, just weeks after, Shy and I moved into our new house.

Not long after that, Shy and I had a rip-roarin’ over our purchase of a new fridge. Although the house was great, there were things that needed updating, and one of them was the fridge.

At the store, Shy declared the kitchen was not my domain and therefore he got to say what fridge we bought and he chose a good model, dependable, but it was not deluxe.

In other words, it didn’t crush ice.

I said that bringing him beverages was my domain (which it was—once his behind was on the couch, it didn’t move), so I would be utilizing the fridge as much as him and I wanted the deluxe model that crushed ice.

Shy informed me that we were not going to spend extra money on having the ability to crush ice when we could spend it on something important, like saving up to build on to the garage so he could tinker with his bike there.

In other words, he wanted a man cave, not crushed ice.

I told him that after getting my money back from Lee Nightingale and putting it into outfitting our home, we were balanced partners and we should do something with the money that was balanced, say, a crushed ice mechanism on a deluxe fridge that we both could enjoy.

Shy said he didn’t give a fuck about crushed ice but he did give a fuck about his bike. He also took this opportunity to point out that I also gave a fuck about his bike, like, in a big way.

This ticked me off mostly because he was right.

Therefore, I had no ready response, and as I was trying to come up with one, Shy threw out that he also didn’t give a shit about balance. He told me, even if I didn’t get that money back, we were square. What was his was mine, what was mine was his, he didn’t keep track or keep score, and we weren’t starting out a life where I did either.