Honey

Dante wasn’t okay.

I didn’t care what happened or what he did. He carried it with him. It tortured him with guilt. I knew he couldn’t talk about this with his brothers. He had to be strong for them.

But I didn’t want him to be strong for me.

I straddled his lap, my thighs sandwiching his hips.

He needed gentleness. He needed tender. He needed someone to look into his eyes and tell him he wasn’t alone. I shouldn’t want to ...