Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3), Kristen Ashley [reading eggs books txt] 📗

go shoot him in the kneecap.

“I like to think that it’s because he’s lonely and he misses me,” I said.

“But?” Axl prompted me for what I obviously didn’t say.

“He wasn’t pleased he had to order pizza. Not that he doesn’t like pizza. Just that he’s into control. And when I show at his house, he knows he’s controlling me. And I don’t know if you know, but he has diabetes. The kind you have to closely manage. So when he doesn’t check his blood sugar or take his insulin, it’s a way to control me. It’s all an exercise in control, even though I’m not ten anymore and even then, the way he did it wasn’t okay. Mostly because controlling anyone isn’t okay at all, ever.”

Axl spoke no words.

But the carrot was getting decimated.

“I know, I know,” I guessed his reaction. “He can take care of himself. Or he could get someone to come in and do a few things to look after him without leaning so heavily on me. He has money, not a lot of it, but he has a pretty good income from a work-from-home job. He’s got a nest egg. It was bigger before he had a couple of hospital visits that bit into it. But we sold his house and downsized him—”

He turned just his head my way. “You mean you sold his house and downsized him.”

I rubbed my lips together.

“That means yes,” he said, watching my mouth.

I nodded.

Then I said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”

Axl put the knife down, grabbed his glass, took a sip of wine, and I watched his throat work while he did that.

So it took a second for me to shake myself out of the fascination when his focus came back to me and he spoke.

“You lay this stuff on your mom?”

I shook my head.

“It pisses her off,” he deduced.

I nodded my head.

“You give it to your girls?”

“Well, until recently, I wasn’t really speaking to them.”

“Before that?”

I shook my head again.

“Intend to do that?”

“I can, but I haven’t and …I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll be judgy, but they care about me. They’ve never met him. Pretty much anyone I talk to about this, Aunt Pam, Uncle Dave, Mom, my high school friend Tammy who lives in Wisconsin now who I FaceTime with a lot, and she knows all about Dad, they think I should tell him to jump in a lake.”

“So I’m your safe place.”

The whoosh of warm, sweet, pure goodness that came from that nearly knocked me off the stool.

“Yeah, Hattie?” he pressed. “I’m your safe place. I cannot guarantee that won’t come with reactions. It goes against the grain, knowin’ a woman I care about, the woman I’m seein’, the woman who’s sleeping in my bed, walks into her dad’s house with a target on her back for abuse. But even telling you that, it’s only so you know I give a shit about you. It is not judgment. It isn’t pressure. It’s not up to me to stop it. It’s up to me to support what you feel you have to do, and support it if you feel you have to keep doing it, and then praise God if the time comes you’re done and you stop.”

“Okay,” I whispered, having heard all he said, but mostly the part about him caring about me was rattling around happily in my head.

That and all that stuff about supporting me.

“And eventually, my ass will be with you when you go and then you gotta let me do what I gotta do.”

Oh God.

The happy stuff stopped rattling.

“Axl—”

“And that would be, I am not witnessing that shit, Hattie. You can tough it out with him when you’re alone. But I’ll make it plain he does not do that shit in front of me.”

I wanted to see Axl tell Dad that he had to treat me right.

I really, really, reallyreallyreally wanted to see that.

“Well, uh … that time will be a ways off,” I noted.

“Fine,” he replied.

“And, you know, if your dad ever acts up, I’m your safe place too.”

“Well, batten down the hatches, baby, because that shit’s happening on Monday.”

My hand tightened on my wineglass so much I had to force it to relax before the glass shattered, and my voice was kind of squeaky when I asked, “What?”

“Part of my day.” He set his glass aside and went back to the carrot. “Mom called. She wants me over for dinner. I told her I’m seeing someone and it’s serious. So she wants you over for dinner too. You don’t dance Monday nights. We’re going over for dinner.”

Full-on squeaky with, “We’re what?”

He bent down, got a bowl from the cupboard (shiny black, big, nice lines, perfect for him and his home décor, because he was perfect, except when he was jumping the gun and setting up a Meet the Parents before we’d even been together a week, gah!), put it on the counter and reached for a bag of cleaned spinach.

“Dinner. Mom and Dad’s house. Monday night.”

“Axl, this is waaaaaaaaaaay early,” I pointed out, feeling I had not elongated the “way” nearly enough.

“Early for what?” he asked after dumping the spinach in the bowl.

“We’ve had one date,” I reminded him.

He turned again to me, put a hip to the counter, and said, “Theoretically, if not practically, you’ve been mine for what? Three months? Six? Ten years?”

I had to smile at the “ten years.”

But I said, “Okay, but—”

“And that means I’ve been yours that same time.”

Hmm.

Nice.

“Even when I was with Peyton.”

Hmm!

“So I think the time is right, don’t you?” he asked.

“Well, I think you think the time is right since you made a date with your parents without consulting me,” I replied.

“What would you have said if I consulted you?”

“Please, God, no.”

He burst out laughing and came to me so I again had to open my knees to let him in.

With him laughing like that, I didn’t mind.

He then bent to me, one hand on my thigh, one hand