Watching Trin by Freya Barker
Chapter 11
Bodhi
My internal alarm is set to go off at five thirty in the morning.
I automatically roll over to grab the phone from my nightstand before it starts blasting that annoying submarine sound, except half my bed is missing and I land facedown on the floor, hitting my elbow on the coffee table.
Fuck.
Lifting my head to orient myself, I can barely make out Trin and Vic’s living room. Right. I’m crashing on their couch.
Dinner had been thrown together last night as a joint effort. No one was up for culinary grandstands. Even Bruce—who’d woken up a lot more docile—participated, volunteering to peel the potatoes. At dinner, Tucker brought up the dirt bike. Trin didn’t look too happy at first, but her son’s enthusiasm eventually left a smile on her face.
It turned out the bike belonged to Bruce—a remnant of his younger years—although he couldn’t remember its existence. The girls remember it sitting idle in the garage when they were growing up, but their father wouldn’t consider giving it up. Trin was sure she’d seen a manual somewhere in the study and promised to look for it in the morning.
Tuck went upstairs in a better mood than I’d ever seen him, and when his grandpa went to bed shortly after, I ran home to pack a bag. The whole family was in bed before ten thirty and I was able to get hold of Cap, who agreed to me taking a couple of days. I spent the next hour or so watching TV and trying hard not to stare at the French doors to the study, where Trin apparently sleeps.
I sit up, rub a hand over my sore elbow, and let my eyes get further adjusted to the dark. The need to pee forces me to my feet so I grab my jeans, pulling them on in case I bump into someone.
The bathroom is right beside the study and I spot Trin’s covered shape on the bed through one of the small glass panes in passing. Damn, knowing she’s sleeping just feet away is messing with my head. I force myself away and duck into the bathroom, taking care of business and splashing a little water on my face. From there I aim for the kitchen, trying to stay quiet as I scrounge through the cupboards to find coffee.
I’m just pouring my first cup when I hear the study doors open and bare feet pad across the hardwood floor. She makes a stop in the bathroom before the footsteps move this way.
“Morning,” I say softly so I don’t give her a heart attack.
Still, she startles at the sound of my voice.
“Morning,” she whispers back, folding her arms around herself protectively.
All it does is emphasize the fact she’s only wearing an oversized T-shirt hanging halfway down her thighs.
I know I’m staring and I don’t care. Her eyes are locked on me as well.
* * *
Trin
Holy shit.
His chest is a work of art.
Nicely shaped with dark nipples and a sprinkling of chest hair. Hair that gets denser as it narrows, bisecting his stomach, and disappears into the jeans that hang loosely on his hips.
I can’t look away. I’m standing here like an idiot gawking at him, and all I can think to do is slap my hand over my eyes.
His soft chuckle serves to mortify me even more.
Kill me now.
I can sense him closing the distance before he gently pulls my hand away from my face. Then he bends down, pressing his lips to mine in an all-too-brief, almost chaste, kiss.
“How is it possible you’re even more beautiful all sleep-rumpled?” he mumbles.
His eyesight must be impaired. I know for a fact my hair is a rat’s nest—it is every morning. There are pillow creases running down one side of my face and I more than likely have morning breath. On top of that, my choice of nightwear is an old, oversized T-shirt I can’t bring myself to throw out, despite the holes and frayed seams. I have other choices but still always grab for this old thing, the worn fabric gliding like silk against my skin. Unfortunately, it doesn’t cover much of my dimpled thighs, the bane of my existence.
It’s a dilemma, stand my ground with my white pasty pillars exposed, or dart back to the study to cover them up.
“Whatever you’re telling yourself right now, stop.”
His hands come up to cup my shoulders and I can feel the heat of his palms through the threadbare material. My eyes are fixed forward on the hollow at the base of his neck where his pulse is visible. A vulnerable spot on his otherwise powerful body. I like that he’s not so tall I feel like an infant in comparison, but tall enough I still have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.
Then he pulls me flush against him, banding his arms around me. I have no choice but to wrap mine around his waist, spreading my hands wide against the skin on his back. He’s warm, smells amazing, and for a moment I close my eyes, letting myself soak it all up.
The house is quiet, the only sound I hear is his steady heartbeat and soft breathing. I feel cocooned, suspended in time, and I don’t want to let go.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had any physical contact with someone other than my family. Hell, I can barely remember the last time a man just held me. My life has been focused on work and Tuck, and now on Pops as well, and there simply hasn’t been time to indulge myself in something as basic as human connection.
I feel it now, in Bodhi’s arms. My mind quiets—silencing my inner voice—and I become as aware of his body as I am of my own.
Turning my head slightly I press my lips against the hollow, feeling his pulse. His hand on my back slides down in response, lightly squeezing my ass as I feel his pained groan vibrate against my mouth.
“Katrina, I’m barely hanging on to my control here.”
My lips pull into a smile against his skin. It’s a heady feeling, discovering I appear to have as much of an impact on him as he does on me. My nipples are tight and heat coils low in my belly, where I can clearly feel the outline of my effect on him.
Uncharacteristically bold, I whisper, “Then let go.”
I’m pulled even tighter against him as he buries his face in my hair, groaning once more.
“You’re making it hard,” he complains.
“So I’ve noticed.”
Suddenly his body starts shaking with suppressed laughter as he releases his hold. As much as I regret the loss, the smile on his face and light in his eyes make up for it. He lifts his hand and gently brushes the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip.
“When the time is right,” he promises softly.
As if on cue, I can hear the first sounds of life coming from upstairs.
* * *
“Oh my God, will you quit gawking?”
Vic pulls me away from the kitchen window where I’ve been ogling Bodhi. I can’t help it, even with clothes on I can’t seem to unsee the half-naked man in the kitchen this morning.
After breakfast, he went out to the garage with an excited Tuck to unearth the old dirt bike. Even Pops was interested and is out there with them now.
“We need to get going,” Vic urges.
We’re expected at Memory Lane in fifteen minutes.
“God, I feel like I’m caught on a runaway train without brakes,” I share with Vic as I grab my bag and reach for the door.
“Yeah,” she commiserates, sounding miserable. “And the outcome seems inevitable.”
I hum in agreement and hook an arm through hers as we make our way to my Jeep.
From the front, Memory Lane looks more like a sprawling country club on the handful of acres, just a few miles east of Mercy Hospital, than it does a nursing facility. Rough-hewn beams and rock make up the impressive portico the width of the main structure, with a wing branching off either side. The place is surrounded by carefully manicured gardens.
My foot comes off the gas when I turn into the long driveway, and I glance over at Vic. She’s still staring at the home.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
She swivels her head and looks at me with wide eyes.
“This place is dripping money. How are we going to afford this?”
I reapply the gas.
“Only one way to find out.”
Walking into the lobby, I notice a tall, somewhat rumpled man standing by the front desk. The moment he spots us he heads toward us, a welcoming smile on his face.
“You must be the Paige sisters?” He shakes our hands when we confirm. “Amanda told me to expect you. My name is Jason Duffy, and I’m the family liaison here at Memory Lane. Why don’t we sit down with a coffee first and I can tell you a little about our facilities before showing you around.”
We follow him through the lobby, to a large central dining room, where he finds us a seat by the window so we can look out at the grounds while he grabs us some drinks. When he joins us, he starts what I’m sure is a well-rehearsed spiel. He points out the third wing at the rear of the building housing patients with advanced Alzheimer’s or dementia, like Pops. Then he explains the different amenities and programs available to the residents, which are plenty. By the end of his presentation I’m duly impressed.
“Are you ready to have a look?” he asks, already getting up from his chair.
“Actually,” Vic stops him. “This place is beautiful and what you describe sounds amazing, but I’m not sure if we’ll be able to afford it. If you show us around and we find out after we can’t manage it financially, it would seriously suck.”
“I understand,” he says, smiling reassuringly.
When he gives us the monthly price tag, we’re both pleasantly surprised. Looks like we’ll be able to cover the bulk from Pops’s own pocket, leaving only a small amount we’d need to supplement. Given that Vic and I live rent-and-mortgage-free, that shouldn’t be a problem.
After a tour of the specialized wing and a peek at what would be Pops’s new bedroom, Vic—having power of attorney—signs all the required paperwork. I swallow hard. Despite the fantastic facility, the realization this will be Pops’s final destination so to speak, is hitting me full force.
I try to swallow my tears as Jason walks us out to the parking lot and takes his leave. When I get behind the wheel, I note Vic is sniffing beside me.
“This is fucking hard,” she shares when I turn to her.
“I know.” I lean over and pull her in for a quick hug. “But they’re much better equipped to care for him.”
Letting her go, I start the engine and back out of my spot.
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t really make it any easier.”
I’d have to agree.
A heavy silence lingers in the Jeep as I pull onto the road home, until Vic breaks it when we stop at the traffic light leading us downtown.
“Does this mean you’re moving back home to San Antonio?” she asks tentatively.
I glance over to catch her watching me.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
There isn’t much I’m sure about at this point in time, but I’m positive about that. How it’s going to work out in the long run, Tuck and I living in the same house as my sister, is to be seen, but there’s no way I’m going to uproot my son again. Beside this need to stick close to my roots and my remaining family, I’m beginning to believe in a future for myself here.
Vic grins at me.
“It’s Bodhi, isn’t it?” she teases.
A horn honks behind us and I notice the light turned green.
“He may be the icing on the cake,” I admit, smiling to myself as I think of this morning’s encounter in the kitchen.
“Ewww. I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking right now,” Vic complains.
“Wasn’t planning on sharing anyway.”
“Turn left,” she suddenly says.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I make my way into the left lane and have to stop for oncoming traffic.
“Where are we going?”
“City Market.”
“I thought we were going to order Chinese tonight?” I remind her.
“Yeah, but I’m picking up some dessert.”
I wait in the parking lot while she runs inside, only to come out five minutes later with a bakery box.
“What did you get?” I ask when she gets in beside me.
“Cake, and it’s your fault.”