by Ciara Shayee
Suddenly, with a jolt, Indie bolted upright, clutching desperately at Laker’s hand. Her eyes wheeled around the room before finally finding his face. She blinked hard, focusing slowly. Her breaths came in rapid pants, and Laker knew she was, maybe, seconds away from a full-blown panic attack if he couldn’t calm her down.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay. It’s me, Laker. It’s just me.”
“Laker…just you. Just Laker,” Indie breathed, her tense posture relaxing slightly as she slumped, bowing her shoulders and pulling her knees up to rest her head upon them. She sucked in deep breaths as he gently rubbed circles on the back of her hand, her grip on his fingers almost painful.
Slowly, so slowly, he felt her body begin to sag. After a few minutes, she lifted her head enough to meet his gaze. Shame clouded her eyes, while all his conveyed was worry.
“I’m sorry,” Indie murmured. “Did I wake you?”
“Firstly, don’t you dare apologise, ‘kay? No, you didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you on my way back from getting a glass of water.”
She nodded, resting her cheek on her knees so she could still look up at him. In the dark, he wondered if she could see his adoration, admiration, and pride.
He wondered if she could see how much he loved her.
“Have you been having these nightmares often?” he whispered.
Indie sighed and let her eyes slide shut. “No. Not for a few weeks. I think…I think it’s because Marley and Bodhi aren’t in here. Does that sound stupid?”
Her eyes shot open when Laker’s fingers glided over her cheek.
“No, Pie. It doesn’t sound stupid. I’d kind of figured that might be it, actually. Do you want me to go get them? Marley sleeps like the dead; she’ll be easy to move.”
Shaking her head, Indie sat up and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. She didn’t seem willing to let go of Laker just yet, and he wasn’t inclined to let go of her, either. “No, they’re fine. Let them sleep. Umm, will you…No, don’t worry.”
Laker smirked, ducking slightly and using their joined hands to gently nudge her face up a little. He hated when she hid her face from him, especially those expressive azure eyes. They were called the windows to the soul for good reason. “What? I’ll do anything, Pie. You should know that by now.”
She flushed, the rush of blood to her cheeks visible in the pale light, even more noticeable, perhaps, because of the ghostly white she’d turned during her nightmare. “I just…I thought I might go and get some fresh air, but I don’t want to go outside alone. Feel free to say ‘no’, honestly. It’s late. I can open a window…”
“Wait right here, okay? I’ll be back in just a second.”
Indie nodded, leaning back against the headboard. Laker gave her hand a gentle squeeze before heading to his room. When he returned moments later, she was frowning into her wardrobe.
“What's the matter?”
“I didn't pack a spare jumper, and Bodhi spilled his milk over my cardigan. Is it really cold outside?”
“Probably, so it's a good job I'm prepared, huh?” She turned to face him then, smiling when he held up a hoodie. “C’mere, bella ragazza.”
She crossed the room on silent footfalls, standing in front of him with a bashful half-smile.
“Arms up,” he whispered. With a soft grin of his own, Laker bunched up the jumper until he had the neck hole in his hands, then slid it carefully over her head, aiming the arms so she could push her hands through. The jumper was far too big for her tiny frame, and Laker chuckled quietly when he looked down at her, dwarfed in his favourite hoodie.
“Here, let me.” With gentle hands, he took the sleeves and rolled them until hers were visible, then reached back to her hair, tugging it from inside the hoodie and smoothing her long, loose waves down her back. Then he rested his hands at the juncture between her neck and shoulders, loosely holding the cords to adjust the hood.
She stared up at his face, a myriad of emotions displayed across her fine features as Laker fought all of his instincts telling him to lean down and close the distance between their lips.
“You didn't…umm, you look after me, but you don't have to feel obligated, you know?”
Laker sighed, letting his thumb reach up to stroke her jaw.
Soft...she's so soft. More than ever before, he wanted to feel the soft skin of her jaw against his lips. He wanted to capture her Cupid’s bow mouth in a kiss to show her just how well he could take care of her if she wanted.
“I like taking care of you,” he began carefully. “As long as you don't mind. I don't ever want to overstep or make you uncomfortable.”
“You haven't! You don't! I mean, I feel safe with you. I always have,” she told him earnestly, leaning just a little into his touch against her face. It made him smile, seeing the way her eyelids fluttered; her breath hitched with a quiet, content sigh.
“Good. I'm glad,” Laker breathed, releasing the cords of the jumper to caress her cheek before deciding, fuck it, and leaning in. He felt, more than heard, Indie’s shuddered “oh,” and his lips curled up against her hairline where he lingered for a few seconds longer.
When he pulled back, she blinked hard a few times, looking thoroughly confused.
“Shall we?” Laker asked, only a hint of his amusement shining through in his tone.
“‘Shall we,’ what?” Indie murmured.
“Go outside for some fresh air?”
“Oh. Yeah. Ah, yes, let's go for some fresh air.”
Feeling slightly smug at the reactions he could draw from her, Laker took her hand to lead her from the room. She followed him through the house, her footsteps silent beside his. Sometimes it still unnerved him, how quiet she could be.
Instead of cutting through the living area, where Reagan, Peter, and the children were sleeping, Laker turned off and took Indie through a side door just before the entrance to the kitchen. She snapped out of her stupor when she realised they were going out a different way than she'd thought.
Stepping outside into the cool night air, Indie gasped. In the low glow of the moon, her eyes found hundreds upon hundreds of white roses, all growing around a series of eight arches in a line. Laker walked slowly, leading her beneath the beautifully scented bows with a soft, hopeful smile on his face.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Perfectly tended, ankle-high hedgerows lined the path, greenery Indie couldn’t identify winding around the bottom of the wooden poles before segueing into the swaths of roses. As they moved forward, her ears picked up the sound of running water. Pausing to stroke the silky, soft white petals of a particularly large bloom, she looked ahead and spotted the low, bricked edge of a fountain. Awed, she moved closer and crouched, admiring the ripples sent outward by the jets in the centre. Her hand moved of its own accord, fingertips brushing the very outermost undulations.
“Laker…” she breathed, surprised when she looked up and he wasn’t beside her. Indie turned in a circle, sighing when she spotted him. He’d gone ahead and was leaning against the end of a white, wooden arbour seat. It had trellises at its back and sides, and white roses continued up and over it, framing Laker. He had one ankle crossed in front of the other, hands tucked into the pockets of his red check sleep pants. He looked heartbreakingly handsome backlit by small fairy lights interwoven with the flowers.
“This is…well, it’s beyond beautiful!”
Laker’s lips curled upwards, the intensity of his gaze trained intently upon her face almost too much for Indie to bear. “‘Beautiful’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Abruptly feeling as though she was missing something, Indie sucked in a deep breath and peered around at her surroundings. When she glanced up at Laker again, he’d moved and was standing just a foot or two away on the other side of the fountain.
“Will you dance with me?”
“D-dance?” she sputtered. “But…there’s no music! And I can’t dance!”
“That’s okay, I’ve got some on my phone, I th
ink.”
Indie scoffed, her heart thundering as he circled the water feature, taking her left hand in his right before placing it on his shoulder. With his other hand, he fiddled with his phone for a few moments, then bent to set it on the edge of the fountain before taking Indie’s free hand. She frowned at him as he grinned wolfishly, leading her in a simple sequence of steps. She surprised herself by being able to follow him easily, and was shocked to recognise the song he’d chosen, even without the words.
“Richard Marx?”
Laker raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed. ““Right Here Waiting””, he confirmed. “It’s one of my favourites.”
Indie smiled, letting the flow of the music and the magic of their location lull her into a calmness she hadn’t felt for a long time. She found herself gravitating closer as they moved, until, by the time the piece segued into Lionel Richie’s “Endless Love”, her body was almost pressed against the length of his. They moved as one, perfectly in sync. Even without Lionel, the moment was intimate and—dare she think it?—romantic.
Laker dropped his head, resting his temple against Indie’s hair as he quietly crooned the words to the song. His rich, warm voice sent frissons of heat through her body, emotions and feelings she’d never experienced before suddenly taking over her every thought.
Except one.
“This is you playing, isn’t it?” she realised in a whisper, afraid of ruining this blissful moment.
Simply nodding, Laker continued to serenade her, his lips brushing the soft skin of her temple with their movements. Indie could almost feel him imprinting the words into her psyche as he sang, though she tried not to put too much meaning behind them.
He’s just singing, she told herself as she soaked up the comfort he exuded, the warmth and sense of safety he embodied, and the feeling of being cherished that always emerged when he was near.
Relaxing against Laker, his hard musculature moulded to her soft curves, Indie sighed in utter contentment and closed her eyes. She was shocked to feel a tear tumbling from her lashes to roll over her cheek, even more so when she realised that at that moment she was, quite possibly, the happiest she’d ever been.
Her family was safe; her closest loved ones sleeping a few hundred feet away. Her children were loved, not just by her but also by their grandfather, uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends. For the first time, Marley had a family. She had toys, colouring books, and pencils, more stuffed animals than she knew what to do with, and received more cuddles in a day than most children received in a year. Bodhi had been cherished and adored since the day he was born. He, too, was routinely spoiled with the important things in life—hugs, kisses, and ‘I love you’s. That said, he also boasted an impressive stuffed toy collection.
Despite having spent the past twelve years wondering if their dreams would ever come to fruition, Indie and Grace were back home with their families—and thriving. They were happy, loved, and healthy. They could do the housework if, and when, they wanted to. If they didn’t, somebody else would, and there would be no punishments waiting around the corner if that happened. They could move around their homes as they saw fit, and they were both conquering their fear of loud noises and men who closely resembled their tormentor.
Following the news of Smith’s death, they’d both had cathartic breakdowns.
Grace’s had come first, in Ryan’s arms—which hadn’t shocked Indie in the slightest. Nobody, least of all the ever-observant Indie, had missed the way Ryan and Grace seemed to orbit one another since his arrival. They were all waiting for the pair to succumb to their obvious feelings for one another.
Indie’s breakdown, or perhaps break-through was more correct, had come during a grocery trip. Laker had taken her and Bodhi to the local supermarket while Marley stayed home with Reagan, Carl-Roman, and Chase. Indie was absent-mindedly scouring the shelves for Marley’s new favourite cereal when she’d come to a sudden halt, the tins in the bottom of the trolley clattering with her abrupt stop. Laker was carrying Bodhi a few steps behind and had almost crashed right into her before realising something was amiss.
“Indie? What’s the matter?”
“I—I can’t…”
Laker glanced around, checking for onlookers and feeling pleased when his cursory look revealed only one other person in the aisle. The elderly woman wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in them, so he gently set Bodhi in the trolley seat, then took Indie’s hands and tried to coax her to meet his eyes.
“Pie, look at me, please.”
When her gaze met his, he winced at the bewildered, panicked look within their depths.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get that one.”
Following the direction of her shaking hand, he frowned at the seemingly innocent box of cereal. “Okay, that’s fine. We don’t have to get that one.”
Growling with frustration, Indie shook her head and grabbed his hands, gripping them hard. “You don’t understand. That’s his cereal. That’s the one he eats.”
Suddenly, it made more sense. Laker had been to see Ines several times for therapy sessions of his own. In one of them, she’d warned him to be vigilant of triggers that might not be as obvious as some others. Loud footsteps, for example. Everybody knew to remove their shoes and tread lightly in the Ashby and Davies homes. Things like this, though…Laker hadn’t even considered this scenario when he’d suggested bringing Indie and Bodhi grocery shopping.
“Pie, listen to me. He doesn’t eat anything. He’s gone, remember? He’s dead. He can’t hurt you, and he sure as hell doesn’t eat cereal anymore.”
She blinked owlishly. It took a few seconds, but Laker saw the exact moment she returned to herself; the moment she remembered. “He’s dead,” she sighed with audible relief.
“Yes.” Laker reached up with their joined hands and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “He’s gone, bella ragazza. I promise.”
She’d trembled lightly for the remainder of the trip around the store, but by the time they arrived back at her house, Indie was almost back to her usual sunny self.
Pulled from her thoughts by a tune she recognised, Indie felt a giggle sneak free.
“Take That, Laker?”
He shrugged, pulling back only enough so that she could see his lopsided, double-dimpled grin and smiling, grass green eyes. “This is a classic, Indie. Nobody is ever going to persuade me otherwise.”
As Gary Barlow’s dulcet tones began, Indie raised her eyebrows.
“What? I don’t just have the instrumental versions, you know. This is all them.”
She hummed, finding herself thoroughly enraptured by Laker’s eyes as he led her around the fountain, mischief appearing just seconds before he winked and jerked her outwards, murmuring ‘spin’ at the crescendo of the first chorus. She ducked under his arm and spun back towards him with a rosy flush to her cheeks, unable to help the quiet laugh that pushed its way to freedom. Even though she had no idea what she was doing, Indie was very much enjoying herself. It was exhilarating.
No, Laker was exhilarating.
Unbidden, the memory of asking him about his conversation with the parking attendant popped into her head. She smiled, staring down at her feet.
“Laker?”
“Hmm?” Adjusting Bodhi slightly with his free hand, he glanced away from the newspaper he was reading to find Indie on the sun lounger across from him. The baby boy had fallen asleep after a busy first morning of swimming, and was sprawled across Laker’s chest; it was an adorable sight, and Indie had made sure to capture it.
“What were you talking about before? Umm, with the parking attendant at the airport?”
Indie was delighted, and even more intrigued, when Laker’s ears tinted red and he coughed quietly to clear his throat.
“I don’t—ah, I don’t remember.”
She didn’t believe that for a second.
“You know—when we were loading everything into the vans at the airport. You were bot
h talking in Italian…”
It always warmed Indie to see Laker flustered. Not because she liked to see him uncomfortable, but because it was so rare to see him out of sorts or anything other than cool and confident. So often, she felt like she spent the majority of her time playing catch-up with her emotions. It was comforting to know that it wasn’t just her struggling with this strange dynamic unfolding between them.
“I didn’t think anyone was paying attention, if I’m honest,” Laker mumbled. A few seconds passed, then he tossed the newspaper at his feet and hung his head over the back of the lounger. “He just commented on Bodhi, and asked how old he was.”
Indie frowned. “That’s it?”
Sigh. “No. He, uh…he said I must be very proud. I said that I am, of Bodhi and his sister, and Paulo—that’s the guy’s name—told me it was easy to see how much I love them both.”
The pair lapsed into silence; it was broken only by the sounds of Archie, Reagan, Carl-Roman, and Chase splashing in the pool nearby. Indie smiled as the things Laker hadn’t said became clear.
He hadn’t told the attendant that the children weren’t his—he’d simply admitted that they made him proud, and that he loved them.
Wasn’t that what every parent said about their children? He’d have had every right to point out that Marley and Bodhi weren’t his, yet he’d chosen not to. Remembering the side-long glances he’d shot her way, Indie couldn’t believe that Laker hadn’t thought about what he was saying.
Her eyes fell to Bodhi as he squirmed, burrowing his head closer to Laker.
“Hey, you’re okay, piccolo tesoro,” Laker cooed, gently stroking a hand over Bodhi’s swim-romper-clad back. Bodhi quieted once more under his soothing touch and rested a tiny fist over Laker’s heart as he drifted back off, unaware that he was melting his mother’s heart.
“Indie?”
“Yes, Laker?”
With her peering up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, that delicious tint of pink infusing her cheeks and a smile curling her lips upwards, Laker couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say the three little words that hung over the tip of his tongue, and he definitely couldn’t lean down to kiss her like he desperately ached to.