He had his back against his headboard, knees cocked, gray flannel pajama bottoms on. I’d never seen him in pajama bottoms (or anything of the like). Then again, when Mickey and I spent the night together, it didn’t involve children in the house.

I was cross-legged beside him, wearing his tee.

I’d just told him Aisling’s candle story.

“Mickey—”

He looked to me. “She brought it back. I noticed. I didn’t say anything because she was weird about it and it was clear she didn’t want me to say anything.”

“That was probably a good call,” I replied.

“For her, that candle’s good times. Before her mom got lost in the bottle. When things were good between her mom and me. Good in the family.”

I nodded.

Mickey looked away and repeated, “Fuck me.”

I gave him a moment, doing it because he needed it but doing it hating to watch him bleed for his baby, before I advised gently, “You should leave it, honey.”

“Yeah,” he told his duvet.

“Mickey?”

He looked to me. “Yeah?”

I looked at him. I looked in those beautiful blue eyes that were now bruised. Worried about his girl. Wanting to fix things. A provider. A protector. Powerless against ugly memories that were still being made.

I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted those words to be the magic words I could say that would sweep away the pain. If even for a brief flash of happy, take it all away and send him soaring.

But it was too soon. Neither of us had gotten anywhere near that. In our one-step-at-a-time relationship that included us building it at the same time taking our positions in each other’s families, which would ultimately lead to blending those families, I was spending my first night in his bed under his roof with his kids there.

That was enough for now.

So I gave him that, pushing forward and putting my hands to him, then my weight to him as I kissed his chest, lifted up and kissed the base of his throat and finally snuggled close.

He curved his arms around me.

“The good news is she opened up to me. That means, maybe I can see where that will lead and get more,” I remarked.

“Yeah, that’s the good news.”

He didn’t seem fired up about it.

Then again, he had to see that candle every day probably dozens of times a day and do it knowing what it meant.

I decided to change the subject.

“Thanks for taking care of me tonight.”

He straightened his legs and turned, drawing me closer before he tangled us together, one of his hands gliding up and into my hair to cup the back of my head so he could press my face to his throat.

When he was done doing that, he muttered, “Somethin’ else I can give you.”