by K. L. Kreig
“I’m moving in with Mom and Dad.”
Nothing moves on me but my eyes. Over the top edge of my spectacles, I catch her gaze, fully expecting a satirical smirk on her lips. Just the other day she told me she’d rather sleep in a tent on my lawn for the rest of her life than move back home, something my mother, in particular, has been after her about since I dragged her here.
Only she’s not kidding.
I reach up and take my glasses back off, folding them up before setting them down in front me. What the hell has changed in two days’ time?
“Why?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
One brow sneaks up my forehead. “That’s not what I want, Bluebelle, and you know it. What I want is you safe and healthy and happy.” I pick up the glasses and start to play with the temples, crossing them back and forth.
“And sober,” she offers. And yeah, I heard her hint of sarcasm.
“That goes without saying.”
She draws her feet to the seat, tucking them up to her butt. Her arms come around her shins, her chin to her knees.
On the outside, my baby sister has all the appearances of youth. Smooth skin, fresh face, everything in its right place, even a hint of innocence, though I know that not to be true. But underneath her petite, wrinkle-free face resides an old soul who has seen too much and knows how seedy the underbelly of our streets can be.
I’ve always thought of her as a tortured old soul stuck in a young person’s body.
“Burying whatever plagues you got you into trouble in the first place, Bluebelle. No matter what you say to the contrary, you are not fine. This accident with Charles Blackwell has to be messing with you big-time as it would anyone, and I’m just concerned about you, as is everyone else.”
She chews on her lower lip and starts playing with a hangnail on her thumb. I expect her to dodge around this subject the same as she does every other time I try to bring it up. She surprises me, though, confessing quietly, “It is.”
Some of that tension I’ve been carrying for weeks abates, ever so slightly. Finally, we’re making progress.
Her eyes lift to mine. “I went to his grave yesterday.”
That surprises me, but I don’t have time to dwell on it because her next revelation knocks the wind from my lungs.
“Willow was there.”
“Willow was…?”
Uh…Oh. Fuck. Willow was there? What happened between them? What was said? Did they even talk or did Annabelle simply leave without Willow knowing? I know that space is sacred to her, as evidenced by the way she meticulously takes care of their plots and I don’t know how she’ll feel about Annabelle being there. I have no idea where her head is since she won’t fucking talk to me.
As if she senses my turmoil, she adds quickly, “It was cool. She was nice. Nicer than I deserve.”
Of course she was. She’s a caretaker, compassionate to the core. Even if she were bitter, she’d shove it down for the betterment of someone else because that’s what she does.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted.
“So you talked?”
She nods.
“What did you talk about?” My voice cracks. Did she mention me? I selfishly want to ask. The need to know is a vat of boiling acid blistering my gut. It pains me.
“Just stuff.”
“Just stuff,” I parrot.
“Yeah. Stuff.” She slides her feet to the floor and stands up. Quietly, she pads over to the window on the far wall. The urge to rapid-fire question after question is a blade biting my tongue.
How did she look? Happy? Miserable? Is she getting too thin? Getting enough sleep? Was she alone? Please fucking tell me she was alone.
Instead I let her organize her thoughts while mine whirl wildly. Eventually she turns around and leans against the jam of the glass. “I’m going to take a semester off. Maybe two.”
“Annabe—”
“I’m talking and I need you to listen without interrupting, Shaw. Please. This is important.”
I swallow and set the readers back down. I’m not sure I’ve seen her this somber before. Or determined. I cross my arms. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“There’s something not right inside me.” On instinct, I open my mouth to refute her but she holds up her hand, stopping me. “It’s true. I don’t know what it is or why it is or how it is but I need to figure that out or I’m going to end up on either the bad side of a needle or the bottom of a river.”
“Jesus, Bluebelle.”
She ignores my loud outburst.
“I need more space.”
My house is nearly ten thousand square feet. We could probably go days without bumping into each other, not that I’ll let that happen. “I’ll give you my room, then,” I tell her, frustrated.
“Not real estate, Shaw. In here.” She points to her temple. “I need to get rid of some of the bad so I have more room for good.”
I shake my head, dizzy from the circles she’s taking me in. “I’m lost.”
She gazes at me thoughtfully. “Willow gave me a new perspective on things.”
“Willow?”
Her entire being softens like a valve has been released and everything she’s held inside releases with it. “Yeah. She’s kind of amazing. I can see your draw to her.”
My eyes are suddenly on fire, burning like a bitch. But my heart? Jesus, that swelled so much it’s going to bust right out of me.
“I don’t want to blow my second chance, you know? I owe Willow’s dad that. I need to get to where I believe it, too. So Mom and I found this place in Colorado. Intense inpatient psychotherapy for a minimum of ninety days, then we’ll see how I’m doing and decide what’s next.”
The surprises keep slamming into me, one by one. She’s going away for three months? And my mother helped her?
“You and Mom?” I ask, stunned. She and my mother mix like oil and water.
Her lips tilt up. “You’re pretty shitty at this listening thing.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
“Anyway, they don’t have an opening until after Thanksgiving, so I’m going to up my therapy sessions to every day until I go. I’m going to hit at least one NA group every day and my sponsor already said he’ll go with me. And I’m going to give you back your own space.”
Again I try to speak. Again she stops me.
“I know you’re going to tell me you don’t need your space, but you do. And so do I. But I also can admit I need a support system and that’s my family. I won’t make it without you guys. Without you or Linc or Gemma…or Mom and Dad.” She pops off the ledge and walks toward me. “I’m already packed, and you can’t tell me no. Mom is on her way to pick me up.”
She stops in front of me and I realize that at last, my baby sister is taking accountability for her life.
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Shaw. I know I’ve been a brat about it all but not for one second have I been ungrateful. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.”
I don’t know what to say.
“It’s okay to talk now,” she jibes, a light curve on her mouth.
“I’m proud of you, Bluebelle. I don’t mean to sound trite or patronizing, but I’m…” I choke up. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
The moment I’m on my feet she launches herself into my arms. I hug her, my sweet, infuriating, melodramatic baby sister who’s caused more hell than my other siblings combined. We’ve been through this before, this declaration of hers, but this time feels different. This time I believe she finally wants to find out who she is.
“I’ll visit as often as I can,” I tell her.
“I can’t have any visitors for the first thirty days, but after that, you’d better make sure your ass is there at least every other week.”
“Count on it,” I promise, kissing her cheek.
I let her go, feeling thankful but sad at the same time. I will sincerely miss her.
The chime from the front gate sounds.
; “That’ll be Mom.”
A few swipes on my security keypad show a powder-blue Mercedes at the front gate instead of the black Audi I long to see. I try not to let myself be disappointed as I buzz my mother in.
“I’ll go get my stuff.” She heads toward the exit but turns back at the last second. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, Bluebelle.”
“Will you tell Willow thank you? I’m not sure I did and I want her to know if it wasn’t for her and everything she said I… Well, just tell her thanks.”
I don’t have time to tell her I don’t know if Willow will ever speak to me again so I’m not sure I’ll be able to pass along her heartfelt message. I can only watch, intensely conflicted, as she bounds from the room.
I’m glad she’s finally taking initiative. I’m thrilled to see a genuine fire lit in her belly. And I’m overjoyed she’s letting my mom close instead of pushing her away. Annabelle needs this.
But the truth of it is, having Annabelle here was as much for me as it was for her. Taking care of my sister has given me this sort of sick purpose that still ties me to Willow somehow. Without her, that tie is broken and I’m flapping in the wind.
Alone.
All.
Fucking.
Alone.
The peace of solitude I once craved I now despise with a passion.
At that moment, something in me snaps apart. The thread of patience I’ve balanced on for three weeks solid frays and gives way and I hit the proverbial wall.
I’m done.
Fuck this distance she’s insisted on putting between us. Fuck this situation. Fuck it all. I love Willow. I know she loves me. And that’s the only truth that matters. The rest is noise we have to figure out how to turn up or down when we need to.
She’s had enough space. Enough time. I’m taking the reins back like I should have from the beginning. No way on God’s green Earth will I let her leave me behind like she has everyone else.
Not gonna happen.
I’m going to be her husband, her future, the man she wakes up to every morning and battles over the covers with at night. I’ve told her she’s worth fighting for every single day since she left me. Now I need to prove it.
If I have to drag her stubborn ass back here and tie her down to make her talk to me, I have no problem with that. In fact, the thought of it makes me hard as stone.
Scooping up my phone, I deviate from the plan I promised myself I’d stick to steadfastly. I pull up her number and, knowing she won’t pick up if I dial, I pound out a text.
You have thirty minutes, Goldilocks.
Then I’m coming for you.
“Shaw? A little help here,” Annabelle calls cheerily from halfway across the house.
The weight of power finally tilted back my way, I shove my phone into my pocket and head toward the front door, every footfall now pure determination. I snag one of Annabelle’s suitcases sitting on the floor and step out onto the stoop, my head down.
And that’s when I hear it.
That voice. That sexy, sultry, hard-on-inducing voice hits me with the force of a thousand suns.
In slow motion, I raise my head to catch Annabelle in my line of sight. She has a gentle smile on her face. “Don’t fuck this up, okay? I like her.” With a peck to my cheek, she grabs the bag from my hand and lugs it down the stairs herself.
My heart is racing so damn fast I feel every jarring beat against the back of my ribs. For a second I think I’m hallucinating but when her seductive vibrato reaches me again, I know she’s not a mirage.
Willow is here, in the flesh. In my driveway. Talking to my mother. Hugging Annabelle. Smiling, waving good-bye as they fold themselves into the car and leave.
Then she’s turning around, staring directly at me.
And she looks less than happy to see me.
In fact…she looks downright pissed.
In an instant, my cock grows painfully stiff.
Jesus, I have missed her and this impudence that fuels the flames of my incessant thirst to own her soul and worship at her feet.
Crossing my arms, I casually lean against the jamb and wait, the throbbing in my balls intensifying the longer her glare singes me.
I allow a slow grin to spread across my face, which brings the scowl on hers down even farther. The more relaxed I become, the wilder she burns.
She’s magnificence epitomized.
Strength and beauty.
My fiery girl is here in all her brilliant fucking glory.
And it doesn’t matter why or how or that her looks could drop a lesser man cold.
Now that she’s brought herself to my doorstep, she’s not leaving.
Ever.
Chapter 32
She floats toward me. A goddess dipped in gold, all blinding and hypnotic.
Something has her madder than a hornet and I’m betting all I own it’s what’s inside the envelope she’s waving around like a madwoman. This isn’t necessarily the reunion I envisioned, though it’s the one I should have expected.
Angry or not, she’s so majestic I fall under her thrall as she stalks toward me. Those sinfully wicked hips sway back and forth, taunting me, tempting me. Making my mouth water for a taste of what’s between them.
“What is this?” she barks, angrily waving said envelope pinched in her hand.
I have an idea what has her so riled up but I say nothing.
My grin grows.
Her brows knit closer together, wrinkling that cute little nose I want pressed against the root of my dick as she swallows me down.
The wind catches her platinum hair, picking it up as if she’s free-falling from the sky in answer to my prayers. In a huff, she winds her mane around her free hand and holds it to the side. She reaches the steps, stomping up them, one by one.
God. Damn. I love it when she gets like this.
“Well?” she demands cutely.
I can smell her now.
Passion.
Intensity.
Fortitude.
That sweet vanilla she sometimes washes her succulent body with.
Fucking hell. Her unique scent fuses to the air surrounding me and I breathe deep, briefly closing my eyes as I let it permeate my blood, invigorating me, strengthening me.
“I am not keeping this,” she bites out. Halting a good foot from me, she shoves that envelope right in my face. “I am not a damn charity case, Shaw.”
Her head is tilted up, blue eyes blazing hotter than twin volcanos. Those luscious lips part with every angry pant. She is glory and grace. My dick pounds against his confines to get to her.
She flattens the object of her ire straight to my chest. “I mean it. I am not keeping this.”
I want to both revere and throttle her right now.
I circle her wrist and keep it taut, preventing her from moving away from me. I want her. All of her. Every stubborn inch of her. But I want her to admit she’s here for me, not out of some sort of pissed-off confrontation that will only end in her walking away again.
“Is this why you came?” I grit, tightening my hold.
Her eyebrows lift but she can’t hide behind the many fronts she’s put up any longer. I’m onto her. “Why else would I be here?”
My lips twist up. So fucking bullheaded. I have a lifetime of this to look forward to.
My hand goes to her hip. I yank her into me with force and resolve. “Because you can’t live without me any more than I can without you, Goldilocks.”
Her eyes dart from mine but I’m not having it. I release her wrist and gently pinch her jaw between my fingers, drawing her eyes back to me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, tone pitched low. I’ll tell her I’m sorry every fucking day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. “I’m sorry I kept the truth from you when I found out. I should have told you. If I could do it differently, I would.”
That fire in her eyes dampens considerably and her muscles begin to relax.
O
ne thing I’ve come to learn about Willow is she’s an extremely emotional being. She puts on a good fuck-you face but that’s all it is. She feels deeply. Love, guilt, joy, anger, hurt, indignation, pride. Every emotion she has is exaggerated because as soon as the sharp edge of one pierces her, she bolts it back down, faking apathy because that’s easier. But over the past few months, she’s changed. She can no longer keep those feelings under lock. I have the key. And I’ll use it every chance I get.
“I understand why you didn’t.” The slight wobble in her voice is the only indication I get that no matter what pretense she used to talk herself into coming, we both know the real reason behind it.
So I wait.
I wait while she fights through that internal battle to push words out she wants to say but has a hard time voicing. The show is spectacular as always.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for so many things. For being in my own head too much. For being scared. For pushing you away when I needed you most. For being a complete idiot when it comes to relationships. But mostly”—she stops to swallow, and I appreciate how hard this is for her—“I’m sorry I let go of your hand because it’s the only thing that gives me the strength to crawl out of a place I’ve been stuck in for too long. I’m sorry I hurt you, Shaw. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Relief is harsh and violent, slamming into me from all sides. “No forgiveness necessary, Willow. It’s been brutal for everyone. I’m just glad you’re here now. Please tell me you’re here to stay.”
“Do you still want me? I mean…after everything?” Her voice is small and unsure and it blows me away she’d even question that.
“Want you?” I ask incredulously, squeezing her chin between my fingers. “I want nothing but you, Willow. I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”
She draws in a deep breath and says, “I love you,” with so much heartfelt emotion I nearly sob.
I lean in, lips grazing hers. “I love you more.” I wait a beat and add, “Annabelle told me you two talked.”
The tips of her mouth turn. “We did.”