Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,56
are perfectly aware that he can’t know that for sure.
Chapter 21
Tyler Jamison
The next morning, I wake bright and early, as soon as the morning sun begins to light our room. Carefully, so as not to wake Ian, I climb out of bed and hit the bathroom.
As I stare at my toothbrush lying next to Ian’s on the bathroom counter, I’m reminded of how important the little things are, and how much we take for granted. It’s not just sex that’s intimate, but cohabitating. Sharing a space, sharing our bodies, our lives. The thought of not being here with him, for any length of time, is gut-wrenching.
What if he needs me, and I’m not here for him?
What if he gets sick or lonely?
What if someone tries to take my place in his life?
I know he wouldn’t just forget me the moment I was locked up, but Ian’s a very attractive young man with so much to offer. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone tried to worm his way into Ian’s life.
I pull a change of clothes from our duffle bag and get dressed. When I return to the bedroom, Ian’s awake, sitting up in bed. He looks a bit lost.
“Good morning, baby.” I reach out to stroke his messy hair. “Did you sleep well?”
Still groggy, he nods.
“Why don’t you get dressed, and then we’ll go downstairs for a quick breakfast. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I’d like to come back here sometime,” he says as he swings his feet to the floor. “When we can stay longer.”
“Beth and Shane are planning to stay here while she recovers from the birth of their new baby. Maybe we can come then. This place will be crawling with McIntyres.”
“I would love that,” Ian says as he heads to the bathroom.
After we’re ready, I carry our bag downstairs and leave it by the front door. We wander into the kitchen.
Elly is at the stove. “Good morning, gentlemen. Are you ready for some breakfast?”
We sit at the kitchen table, and she brings us each a plate of eggs and sausage and toast.
She sets a basket of blueberry muffins on the table. “Help yourselves. They’re still warm.”
“Thank you, Elly,” Ian says.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she asks.
“That would be great, thanks,” I say. “Black for me. Ian likes his flavored—caramel, vanilla, anything sweet.”
“I hope you two will come back soon,” she says as she pats Ian’s shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
We eat quickly, cognizant of the time. I need to be home by eight.
After saying our goodbyes to Elly and George, Ian and I get into my car and head back to the city. Ian’s quiet on the drive home, but I don’t press him.
We arrive back at the townhouse and walk in the door at seven-thirty.
Back to house arrest.
Without a word, Ian takes our overnight bag from me and heads upstairs. “I’ll put our stuff away.”
“Okay.” I stare at his retreating back, at his tired steps as he climbs the stairs. “Do you want me to put on a pot of coffee?”
But I don’t get a reply. It’s possible he didn’t hear me, but my gut instinct tells me otherwise.
A sense of unease crawls up my spine. I’m not afraid for myself, but I am afraid for Ian. I’d never forgive myself if our relationship did damage to his emotional state. Now I’m starting to realize just what his father meant when we first met, when he told me he and Ruth wouldn’t let anyone undo all the good that’s happened to Ian since they adopted him.
Shit. My relationship with Ian is everything to me, but maybe it’s not always such a good thing for him.
I head into the kitchen to put on some coffee. While I’m waiting, I power up my laptop and sit at the kitchen table to check for e-mails that came in overnight. Last night at Kenilworth, we were both offline. Now it’s time to touch base with reality.
I have an e-mail from Troy—he knew where we were last night, so I imagine he didn’t worry when I didn’t reply to him. He e-mailed to confirm that Lydia received his message and responded favorably. She agreed to the plea deal, thank god. Ian won’t have to testify in court. That lifts a huge weight off me.
When the coffee is ready, I pour myself a cup. I get out the sugar and the caramel-vanilla creamer Ian likes, ready to make him a cup when he comes downstairs.