“Awkward conversations aren’t a favorite pastime of mine,” I mutter.
“You mean, making adult decisions aren’t?”
“I’m twenty-six.” I mentally slap myself. That’s my argument?
“Last time I checked, twenty-six was an adult.”
“I mean, I don’t have much experience in making adult decisions that don’t only impact my life.”
When I graduated from high school, I moved to LA for college and have lived my life without answering to anyone. I travel regularly for my job and don’t have to worry about anyone other than my boss controlling what I do. My personal decisions have never impacted anyone else’s life before.
“You’d better get over that shit fast. We’re about to be making some big decisions together,” he says.
My chest feels tight. I haven’t come to terms with having a long-term relationship with Dallas, and I don’t feel like diving into the reality of it now. “I haven’t made a doctor’s appointment yet. I have no idea where to go, but I’d prefer an office not close, considering the town doctor probably delivered you.” And Maven.
“That’s true.”
I throw my arms out. “Exactly!” Does it make me a sucky person that I don’t want the same doctor Lucy had? God, I sound like a jealous brat.
“Dr. Riley’s son recently graduated from med school and moved back to work at the practice. He said he’d see us on the low until you’re ready to tell people.”
On the low? Like I’m going to be pushing a royal baby out of me?
“You’re positive he won’t tell anyone?” I ask.
“Positive. I have plenty of dirt to easily blackmail him.”
“Good. Blackmail away. I’d rather not have any more attention brought to us.”
He chuckles and leans forward to scan the crowd below. “I take it, I wasn’t the only one noticing all the prying eyes?”
“Sure weren’t.”
“Ignore them. Something new will come up, and they’ll forget about us.”
“Doubt it. You’re like the bachelor of Blue Beech, and I’m sure they want you to give a rose to a local girl.”
“Other people don’t decide whom I spend my time with.”
They might not decide, but that doesn’t mean they won’t talk shit about it.
I point to my stomach. “In other news, I need to find more creative ways to hide this. I’m showing more, and I don’t want people to find out.”
“We’re having a baby, Willow. It’s eventually going to come out. You’re struggling with the reality of it, and that’s why I’m holding back on saying anything, but you’d better come to grips with it soon. I need to tell my daughter and parents before you go into labor.”
Dallas isn’t a bullshitter.
He shoots it to you straight. Been that way for as long as I’ve known him, which is something I’m not used to. The guys I date tend to be liars who whisper sweet nothings into your ear and then do the opposite. I’ve never had a guy … a man like Dallas.
He clears his throat. “And, since I have you hostage, I’d better ask the question that’s been bugging me.”
Oh God. What now?
“Tell me the truth. Why did you hide this from me?”
I look around. How long does it take for us to get back to the ground?
“Willow,” he says, practically growling my name. “Give me a clear answer, not something half-assed. I want real. The truth.”
I lean in and take a deep breath. Here goes. He wants it. I’ll give it. He’s not going to like it.
“I remember every second of our night together.” My pulse races like a freight train is about to hit me. “You made me feel special, like I could have someone other than a cheating scumbag. You made me feel alive.” Am I really going to do this? I want to sound strong, but my voice cracks. “At least temporarily.” I stop to inhale another breath, chickening out.
“What happened that makes you question our night wasn’t special?”
His gaze is fixed on me, intense, and he settles his elbow on his knee. His free hand rests on my thigh.
“You called me her.”
I thought I had his attention before, but my admission kicked it into overdrive.
His head jerks to the side. “What?”
“You called me her … Lucy.” Tears bite at my eyes, breaking the hold I’ve been trying to keep. There. I said it. I gave him the truth.
His face contorts with a mix of pain and disbelief. “What? No way. You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
I regret it every day. Regret not slapping him in the face or screaming when it happened, but I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t blame him because my intention of having sex with him was the same—to forget the person I longed for. I wanted to erase Brett. He tried to erase Lucy.
He scrubs his hand over his face. I’ve spent the last decade reading a man who lied for years, and Dallas isn’t lying about not remembering.
He scoots in closer to clasp my chin in his hand. “Fuck, Willow. I’m sorry. No wonder you hate my fucking guts and can barely stand to look at me. I’m sorry. God, I’m an asshole.”
He runs his hand over my cheek while apologizing repeatedly. I draw in the trace of cotton candy and cinnamon on his breath.
The end of our ride is getting closer, and I wish I had a panic button to freeze us in place.
“You’re the only woman I’ve kissed other than Lucy,” he says, his lips inches from mine. “The only woman I’ve touched. The only woman I’ve ever had in my bed.”
I relax into his touch, into his words. Should this admission turn me on? Should it make me want to straddle him and get a public indecency arrest?
“And it’s not for lack of trying,” he goes on. “This will make me sound like an arrogant jerk, but I’ve had women knocking on my door daily, but I’ve never given them a second look. Replacing Lucy with a quick fuck wasn’t my intention. I could’ve done that with anyone. I might’ve said her name, but I swear to you, I knew who I was inside of, and it wasn’t her.”
I breathe heavily and take in the callous palm roaming over my cheek.
“We were both missing other people that night. We can agree on that.”
I nod at the truth. “What do you want from me?” I whisper, my lips nearly hitting his.
“I want you to move here permanently. I want you to raise our baby here. I don’t want you to leave.”
His eyes soften, and I dart my tongue over my lips without even realizing it.
God, the desperation of wanting to kiss him, of wanting to screw him, of wanting his touch anywhere on my body is all I’m feeling right now.
“What do you want from me, Willow?”
To wrap my hand around your cock again. To feel you inside me one last time. To love me like you loved her.
“I … I don’t know,” I answer breathlessly. I can’t concentrate on anything but us.
He takes in a sharp breath. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”
I make my move, unable to stop myself, and crash my lips against his. He tastes more like cotton candy than he smells. He groans while moving his hand from my face to the back of my neck, diving into my hair and drawing me in closer, opening his mouth so that our tongues meet.
His mouth is soft and forbidden. Him only kissing me is going to send me over the edge. He scoots in closer to use his knee to separate my legs more and slides his hand up my thigh, stopping where my shorts end.
“What are you doing to me?” he mutters, taking me deeper into his mouth and inching his hand underneath the fabric, his fingers spreading apart.
I moan and tilt my hips up, permitting him to keep going. His fingers crawl to my middle, right over my panties, and he rubs his thumb across it.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re soaked.”
I close my eyes as he moves my panties to the side.
“Okay, who’s next in line?” the operator yells.
Dallas’s hand disa
ppears in seconds, and his back hits the seat, his breathing labored. “Fuck. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
I straighten my shorts, rub my hands over my hair to fix it, and curl my arms around my stomach. No doubt I would smack him in the face if we weren’t in a public place.
“You’re right. It won’t happen again,” I whisper.
The operator winks at us when the car stops, and we get out.
“It happens all the time, man,” he says, smirking. “Figured you wouldn’t want to keep up your show in front of everyone.”
Oh, hell. He saw us.
I stumble forward, my legs feeling weak, and Dallas rests his hand on the small of my back to stabilize me. We’re back to silence, like he didn’t have his hand in my shorts only minutes ago, like he wasn’t about to get me off in a Ferris wheel car. He guides us straight to Stella, who’s waiting on Hudson and Maven to finish up a ride.
Our conversation ends.
Our connection ends.
My hope for him ever touching me again ends.
I can’t get attached. I can’t let Dallas Barnes in again.
In my head. In my vagina. In my heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Dallas
My hopes of taking Willow to the fair, so she’d change her mind about staying here blew up in my face.
All because me and my dick.
All because my lack of being laid.
And the fact that she looked so delicious, so damn sexy, sitting there, that I couldn’t stop myself. I nearly lost it when I felt how wet she was for me. I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t an asshole whose mind was on my dead wife when I slept with her. I fucked up. I’ll be the one to blame when she packs up and leaves.
We’d started to break ground, begun building something, and then my dumbass took a wrecking ball to it. My night with her had been incredible. Touching her had been incredible. What I had done that morning was fucked up and is one of my biggest regrets.
I called her Lucy.
Humiliation and stupidity crack my core.
I don’t blame her for hating my ass and keeping her distance.
Had the roles been reversed, had a woman called me another man’s name in bed, I would’ve stepped away … and most likely kicked her out of my bed.
I want to change. To be the man who can rise through the flames stronger than ever, but I can’t.
That’s why what happened tonight scares the shit out of me.
My goal at the bar had been to drink away the pain, the memories. I hadn’t been searching for someone to talk to. Nowhere in my mind was the idea of having a one-night stand. It all took a turn when Willow spoke to me. My attention was all hers as soon as we had our first drink together. I wasn’t going to leave that bar unless it was with her.
Tonight has proven it wasn’t only a drunken attraction that brought us to my bed.
That fucking terrifies me.
Maven is passed out in the backseat, exhausted from going on every ride multiple times, and Willow hasn’t said one word since we got in my truck.
Man, I wish my daughter would wake up and start rambling about random shit like she usually does. I gear my truck into park when we arrive at Willow’s apartment and unclip my seat belt to open the door for her, but she’s faster than I am.
“Well, uh … good night,” is all she says before opening the door and jumping out of the truck like it’s on fire. “You don’t need to walk me up.” She slams the door, races up the steps, and goes inside.
I shut my eyes. “Good night, Willow,” I whisper even though she can’t hear me.
I wait to pull away until I see the light come through her windows.
I get Maven changed when we get home, tuck her into bed, and start to pick up around the house. If I slack on the housecleaning, my mom comes over and not only plays maid, but detective as well. She checks the fridge to make sure we’re consuming all the food groups and goes through my mail and underwear drawer.
I grew out of letting my mom make my bed over a decade ago—the reasons different now than before. I’m not stashing porn and condoms underneath my mattress. It’s more her searching for evidence that I’m getting laid or seeing someone. She’s resorted to leaving information about online dating and schedules of all the social functions happening in town.
No fucking thank you.
I finish cleaning up the aftermath of Maven’s sleepover with her stuffed animals last night. It happens when I go into my bedroom. I tried to hide all the pictures once. Picked them up and shut them away in the attic. Ten minutes later, I returned them.
I like to see Lucy when I’m having a bad day, when I need someone to understand me, when I need to tell her about all the crazy stuff our daughter does. I grab the picture from my nightstand and trace my fingers over her wedding dress, her tan face, her blonde hair, and then her pink lips.
“You always were the best at giving advice,” I whisper, setting the frame down to twist my wedding ring. “Tell me what I should do.”
I shut my eyes and remember her last words. Lucy knew what I needed before I knew it myself.
“Find someone to love,” she demanded.
“That’s not … that’s not possible,” I whispered.
“It is. I promise you, the day will come.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she placed her finger against the crack of my lips. “You might not see it now, but it will. Your heart will make the right choice to move on with someone who loves you and Maven. Don’t be scared, my love. Give it a chance. Heal and let her help you do it.”
I kiss my fingers, press them to her picture, and turn off my lamp.
Sleep doesn’t come to me.
Chapter Fifteen
Dallas
Maven grins at me with her gap-toothed smile, a clear sign she’s up to no good. Two bags are set at her feet, waiting for me to load them into my truck. “Daddy, I need your phone this week. Pretty, pretty please.”
“For what?” I ask.
“In case I need anything,” she answers in annoyance, as if it were a reasonable request for a six-year-old.
“Nice try. You’re not taking my phone to camp.”
She huffs and stomps her feet. I’ve already vetoed her iPad making the trip. Damn kids and electronics. They act like it’ll kill them to spend a weekend in the wilderness without Wi-Fi.
“What if I get lost in the woods and can’t find my way back?”
“I’ve pointed out the North Star to you several times.”
She frowns. “What if I see a big ole mean bear?”
I laugh. “Having a phone will be the last of your worries. If you see a bear, slowly back away, and don’t make eye contact.” I thought I wasn’t supposed to deal with this shit until her teenage years.
She crosses her arms and gives me her best pouty face. She knows how to pull at my heartstrings. Her perfected pouty face has landed her a gerbil, a goldfish, and the iPad.
“Don’t act like you won’t miss me,” I tease.
Her pouty face turns into an annoyed one.
“Now, grab your sleeping bag, and let’s get going,” I instruct.
This will be the longest we’ve been away from each other since Lucy passed. It was different when she was here. I lived states away, traveled frequently, and only came home a few times a month. I regret having that long-distance relationship. I thought I’d have more time, but it just goes to show you that time is never guaranteed. Live each moment and hug the ones you love because you don’t know what can happen tomorrow.
“What are you going to do when I’m gone?” she asks as I strap the seat belt around her.
“Work. Do grown-up stuff.”
I shut the door and jump into the driver’s seat. The camp is about an hour drive, and I made a playlist for us to enjoy during the trip since we have the no-electronics rule. Maven is going to hate it … at first because I usually let her listen to her teenybop bullshit, but I want to introduce her to something new today.
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“One Direction, Daddy!” she yells as soon as we pull out of the driveway.
“Oh, man, I forgot to tell you.”
She scrunches her face up. “Forgot to tell me what?”
“Now that they broke up, their music can’t be played anymore. It’s banned.”
“Since when?”
“Yesterday. It was all over the news.” I peek back at her silence to see tears running down her face. This can’t be for real? “What’s wrong, May-Bear?”
“They’re gone,” she cries out, her pouty face intact.
Jesus Christ. “Let me double-check. It might have changed.”
I switch to Maven’s favorite station and groan when a One Direction song conveniently comes blasting through my speakers.
So much for Bob Dylan.
My little girl always wins.
Kids are jumping out of cars, backpacks strapped to them, and running toward the group of others congregated in front of the clubhouse. Maven has already said her good-byes and taken off with her friends.
I lean back against my truck and slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans. My parents sent us kids to Camp Maganaw, and I never failed to have a blast. My attention goes straight to Bear Claw Cabin. It’s been updated with a fresh slab of paint and a new door, but the memories I have in that cabin will always be there. Lucy and I had our first kiss behind Bear Claw after sneaking out one night.
“Dallas, how are you holding up?”
I briefly glance over when Cindy stops at my side and copies my stance. Cindy and I went to high school together, and she was Lucy’s hairdresser. She married the quarterback, had a baby, and then divorced the cheating drunk a few years ago.
I move dirt with the toe of my boot. “As good as I can be, I guess.”
A breath bursts from her lips. “I get it. It’s hard. I never thought I’d be with anyone other than Phil, but I’ve learned that the best way to heal is by moving on.”
I ram my heel into the ground as anger flushes through me. “A divorce and death are not fucking worthy of comparison,” I grind out.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her what wants to come out. Cindy was one of the casserole-and-muffin-making chicks who checked up on me daily in the weeks after losing Lucy. I finally had to put a stop to it after the third week.
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