Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(49)

“I’m almost done, Willa. It seems like the least I can do for you,” I grumble, ducking back into the Jeep, needing to stop staring at her and seeing her lips part on the word porno.

“Cade, stop. It’s seven a.m. and you were home late. What time were you up? Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t sleep in, Red. And I’m taking the day off to take care of you guys.”

She doesn’t respond. I hear the front door shut and let out a sigh, relieved she walked away. I get lost in shampooing the seat, watching the bubbles form and turn into a white foam.

It’s a pleasant escape. Manual labor has a peculiar way of stilling my mind, easing my worries—keeping me on track and focused on the things that matter.

I'm lost in thoughts of things that matter when I feel a soft hand press against the center of my back.

I squeeze my eyes shut—hard—because I know who I’m about to face and I need to play it cool.

But when I turn to Willa, I feel the pads of her fingers trail along my ribs. And then she’s standing before me, holding a steaming mug of fresh coffee. Wide green eyes look up at me—a hint of confusion in them. So many questions. And a softness that I want to pull out and wrap myself in.

She holds the cup out to me. “Here. Seems like the least I could do.”

And I realize that taking a moment with my eyes closed to give myself an internal pep talk will not keep me away from Willa Grant at all.

I need to try harder because she’s quickly becoming one of those things that matter to me. And I’m not sure I can handle more responsibility.





17





Willa





Luke has managed to keep water, ginger ale, and some soda crackers down over the course of the day. He’s also snuggled the hell out of me on the couch, and I am living for it.

At first, I wasn’t sure. Because with Cade around, I felt he should be the one soaking up the cuddles. But he’s kept himself busy, and I’ve caught the occasional soft look he’s given us on the couch.

Luke’s propped against the end with his legs slung over my lap as he leans into my shoulder. He’s been twiddling my hair in his pudgy fingers for a while now—reminds me of his dad.

We’re watching some cartoon, and I wish I could say what it was about, but I’m altogether too aware of Cade puttering around the house. Cleaning. Fixing stuff.

He literally washed the baseboards.

I’ve never known a man to be so tidy. But he’s also driving me insane. Sitting around while he works makes me twitchy.

When he pulls all the food out of the fridge to wipe things down, I break.

“Cade, you’re giving me a headache. Please come sit and watch some silly, mind-numbing cartoon with us.”

“Hey!” Luke pouts up at me like I’ve just insulted some sort of Oscar-worthy performance rather than something that only holds children’s attention because it’s bright and flashes non-stop. It’s the music that kills me. It’s so bad.

“You saying my mind could use a little numbing, Red?” Cade grumps from the kitchen without even glancing up at me.

“Yes. You’re giving me anxiety.”

“I’ll cook you something. You’re always less peppy when you’re full.”

I snort. “Dick.”

The sizzle of something in a pan hits me first.

Then the smell of butter.

Then the feel of Luke’s weight against my stomach.

I breathe through my nose, trying to focus on the terrible TV show. How cute Luke is. How hot Cade is.

Anything to rid myself of this growing sense of nausea.

It’s when Luke leans close and puts one clammy hand on my cheek that things go south.

“Willa, you have the prettiest hair,” he murmurs sweetly. But his breath is all crackers and ginger ale and damp heat and I can’t stay here anymore.

I clamp my lips together and start fumbling with prying his legs off me. “Thank you, baby. But I need out.”

His brow furrows. He looks mildly offended, but not as offended as he’ll be if I barf on him. I catch a flash of Cade’s concerned face as I literally jog down the hall toward the bathroom. The seat makes a loud clanking noise as I flick it open and empty myself with the most unladylike roaring noise.

When the urge ends, I flush and peer up to find Cade and Luke standing in the doorway watching me. As if hearing me barf wasn’t bad enough, the two boys are standing there staring like they’ve never seen a person get sick.

“At least you got yours in the toilet,” Luke says with an earnest look on his face.

I can’t help but laugh as I look back into the bowl, the sound of my chuckle echoing against the porcelain.

“Luke, go back to the couch.”

I see his small form departing from the corner of my eye, but Cade doesn’t move, still standing in the doorway. He’s staring at his toes and the brass room divider where the hardwood floors swap to tiles.

“You going to stand here and watch?”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles without glancing up.

“For watching me barf? You should be. I don’t know how I’ll look you in the eye anymore.”

He scoffs. “That you’re sick.”

“Well, it’s not like you did this to me.”