Waiting for Willa (Big Sky, #3)(29)

I snort, then do my best to look offended. “Hey, I’m not forty.”

“Are you my mom’s age?”

“I’m a year older than her.”

“See?” Alex crunches on a stick. “Old.”

“That’s the last time I bring in snacks,” I reply, making him laugh. Alex takes a bite of his pretzel, then offers the rest to Rocky, who snatches it right up.

“Hi, guys,” Willa says, poking her head in. “How’s it going back here?”

“Good,” Alex responds. “We have snacks.”

“Mm, pretzel sticks.” She reaches out to grab some, but I shake my head.

“Are you doing math?”

She arches an eyebrow in that way that makes my dick twitch. Way inappropriate around the boy. “Not at the moment.”

“Then no pretzels for you. This is math food.”

“Did you get him to eat hummus?”

“Heck, no,” Alex says, shaking his head. “That’s old-people food.”

“I like hummus,” Willa says.

“I rest my case,” Alex responds, making us all laugh.

“Okay, then.” Willa watches her son offer a pretzel to Rocky. “No more of those for the baby, Alex. Too much people food upsets his tummy, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Willa leaves the room before Alex rolls his eyes.

“It’s just a pretzel.”

“And she’s your mom, kiddo. You gotta do what she says.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

“Do you have this handled for a few? I need to go talk to your mom about something.”

“Are you going to tell her about school?” He hangs his head.

“Look at me.” He complies, and the worry in his brown eyes tugs at my cold heart. “Unless you’re in danger for some reason, I won’t tell your mom anything you don’t want me to. I promise. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“But if the bullying from these kids gets any worse, you need to tell her. She will want to help you, Alex.”

“I know. She just worries a lot, and I know that she cries sometimes, too. Or, she did before you started hanging around. And I don’t want to make her worry anymore.”

“You’re a good person, Alex, and I’m lucky to know you.”

He smiles proudly as I pat his shoulder, then I set off, looking for Willa.

I find her in the back of the store by the dressing rooms, fidgeting with a rack of dresses.

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into a cubicle, then close the curtain and pin her against the wall, kissing the hell out of her.

She’s soft and small and smells like sunshine.

She buries her hands in my hair, holding on tightly as I brush my lips over hers, our tongues tangling. I can’t help but grind against her, making us both moan.

“Shh,” she says with a giggle. “We might not want to do this here.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” I reply, kissing my way down her cheek to her ear. I pull the lobe—earring and all—into my mouth.

“I have a confession.”

“If it’s another man, I’ll kill him,” I growl, but she just laughs again.

“No.” She rolls her eyes, just like her son, and it makes me smile. “Seeing you help my son is damn sexy.”

I feel my lips twitch. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s nice that we get along well, and the chemistry is good—”

“Good?” I grind myself against her again. “Try fucking amazing.”

“…but knowing that you also like my son? Well, that’s sexy on a whole new level.”

“I’m going to remember this,” I promise her.

“Of course, you will.”

***

I’m sitting on the lake. It’s frozen over, and I have my fishing pole, with the line dropped into the hole in the ice. I’m sitting in a chair, hot coffee in my mug, a blanket on my lap.

The sun is high over me, which is unusual for winter, but I’m happy for the light.

“Nice day,” Cary says beside me.

“Cold as fuck,” I reply. “But the sun feels good.”

“Didn’t think this lake would ever freeze over this year,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “So, let’s get to why I’m here.”

“I invited you here,” I remind him, but he just smiles, and I realize that he’s in shorts and a T-shirt. The same T-shirt he wore every day for a year our junior year. “Dude, you’re going to freeze. Where’s your coat?”

“One of the cool things about being dead is you don’t need a coat.”

I scowl as it all comes rushing back to me. The mountain. The snow. Not being able to save Cary.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the way I always do when Cary visits me in dreams. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he reminds me with a sigh and shrugs. “I was dumb.”

“Is it really you talking to us when the train whistle blows at your grave? I’ve been wondering for years.”

“Of course,” he says with a wink. “I talk to you a lot. You just don’t always listen.”