The End - Blackbird book 7

20

Brock was a little surprised when he realized she'd fallen asleep still sitting on his lap. He carefully removed her arm from behind his head and made her rest on the couch and against his side, rounding her shoulders with his arms once more. Gillian let out an exhausted sigh and brought up her knees, cuddling with her head on his chest.

She woke up to a specially loud commercial ad. She still rested against Brock's side, her head on his chest, and his deep breathing told her he was asleep. She sat up and her lips curled up at seeing him, sound asleep but still holding her, his head back, his parted lips. No trace of a scowl on his face. She was tempted to kiss him, but she didn't want to wake him up. She managed to shrug and sneak away from his arms without disturbing him.

Brock's eyes fluttered open a few minutes later anyway. Not because she'd made any noise, but because the sun reached his window. After a whole life of waking up early in the morning, he wasn't used at all to sleeping with the sun poking his nose. He frowned to look around and found Gillian gone. He rubbed his face, sitting up. No traces of breakfast on the coffee table. The kettle started to clatter on the burner. The sound of water from the bathroom pointed out where Gillian was. He glanced at the TV. It was ten a.m. It felt strange, being home so late with nothing scheduled for the day. Yes, supermarket. And Gillian, of course. Well, that was what he called a good schedule.

He took a deep breath and stood up, ignoring the complains of joints and bones and muscles. The kettle fumed, and he found their mugs on the bar, clean and ready for another tea.

Gillian came out of the bathroom behind him.

"Oh, you're up," she murmured, seeing him fill the mugs with boiling water.

Brock nodded with a mild smile. "I could use some more napping, though."

She peeked into his room. "You have another TV in there, right? We could have our teas in bed and keep watching the news. I can use another shut-eye too."

"On one condition."

Gillian frowned at his grave tone. Brock held her eyes, not the hint of a smile.

"Promise you'll keep my hands away from you."

Gillian's eyebrows jumped up at her surprise. "Come again?"

"I might just die on you if I as much as touch your leg. But I'm not quite confident I can keep myself from trying, if I have you near in my bed."

He expected her to laugh. To scoff, at least. Instead, she frowned again and nodded, just as grave.

"Y'know, I'd hug you and kiss you for what you just said. But I'm afraid that'd break my aching back."

Gillian expected him to smile and nod. But she watched in utter surprise how he chuckled first, to let out a warm, soft laughter as he shook his head. She was mesmerized by the sound, but mostly by the way that laughter washed away years and pain and exhaustion from his face. She'd seen him laugh once, almost twenty years ago, and she'd forgotten soon after. Now the memory popped out in her head. It was the same fresh sound, the same spark shimmering in his eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd ever seen him laugh. But it was anyway amazing, touching, enjoyable. She wanted to see him laugh so often now. Another thing she'd never get enough of.

Brock thought she stood there waiting for him to go to his room together. So he finished fixing their teas in no hurry, still chuckling under his breath at their silly jokes.

Gillian needed a moment to snap out of her transfixed contemplation, process his words and get the message. And she was proud that her brain was able of such a complex process and even more: it directed her to the TV in the living area and had her fingers turn the thing off.

Brock asked her to take their mugs and preceded her to his room, where he found his bed laid neatly and without the smallest crease. He piled up all the pillows and throw-pillows and took his mug from her hands. They lay back together in the middle of the bed with a heartfelt sigh, which made them chuckle at themselves.

"Not the kids we used to be, huh," he said.

"That about staying young at heart is just bullshit," she grunted. "What's the use, if your body is not up to it?"

Brock turned on the TV across the room, set on the chest of drawers, and moved up his arm on Gillian's side. Before he needed to bring her closer, she stuck to his side.

"What time are you going to the supermarket?" Gillian asked, her head on his chest once more.

"About noon? We can shop for you too. Bet your fridge is empty without your son or Coleman around."

"No use. I ain't cooking anyway."

The silence made her glance up, to find Brock looking down at her with only one eyebrow arched.

"What."

"Is that just one of your rebellious statements? Or are you giving me the cue to say I'll cook for you if you want?"

Gillian's smile vanished, gone to curl up Brock's lips when she blushed with an embarrassed frown. There had been no second intentions in her answer. The fact that he'd read between the lines of what her subconscious leaked into her words was enough to die out of shame.

Brock tried to stay serious. "Don't you blush on me like that, or help me God, I'm making love to you right here and now, even if I break my back in the process."

She only blushed harder, untilher ears turned dark among locks of hair.