Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(39)

“My studio is filled with shit,” she told the windshield.

“What?”

“Yeah. My contractor sucks and sewage backed up into my studio this morning. I had a plumber come out and fix it, but it’s still a mess. And it’s going to smell like shit forever because Hadley was a klepto who couldn’t keep her damn hands off people’s stuff. Now, I have to go to your house and I won’t even have a chance to clean it, which means I’m going to have to tear out the entire mural of unicorns Rosalee helped me make. I don’t believe in ghosts, Caven, but I think there is a very real possibility Hadley has come back from beyond the grave just to screw with me.”

“Okay,” I said calmly.

She turned to look at me. “None of that’s okay, Caven.”

“Yeah, it is. All of that’s okay. Because right now, you’re sitting in my car a little banged up, a little shaken, but you’re safe. And we’re going to get your stuff and head back to my place. Rosalee is going to summon all the dogs in the neighborhood with her scream when she finds out you’re spending the night. I’m gonna order dinner from somewhere that has brownies and ranch, and we’re going to sit on the couch and not talk about Hadley or the mall or anything else for one goddamn night, because tonight, we are living in the seconds. And in this second, Willow, you are okay. We can fix the rest of it.” As I rolled to a stop at a traffic light, I propped my hand on the center console and turned to face her, daring her to argue.

She stared back at me, her eyes filling with tears.

A million words hung in the air between us.

Apologies.

Accusation.

Blame.

Guilt.

Love.

But all of that could wait for another second.

Because right then, for the first time in over a month, I had hope that maybe we really could fix the rest.

“Okay,” she whispered, sliding her hand across the console and inching under my index finger so just the tip rested on the top of hers. “But I want carrot cake and french fries.”

I tapped the top of her finger. “Then tonight, while you eat carrot cake and french fries, I will be the one dry-heaving.”

She smiled with quivering lips. “Who said anything about dry-heaving?”





WILLOW


“Daddy says you have to hold the rail when you go down the stairs,” Rosalee said so close to my face that her eyeball was all I could see. She leaned to the side to get a better view of my bruise. It had to have been at least her tenth inspection of the night.

“And clearly he’s right.”

I hadn’t been sure what to say to her when we’d arrived and she’d asked me what had happened to my face. The last thing I wanted was for Caven to see me lie again. But the kid was four. She didn’t need to know that some guy had attacked me in a parking lot. Or that he was looking for her mother. And she definitely didn’t need to know that there was a very real chance that he was going to come looking for me again. Thankfully, Caven had jumped in with an elaborate story about shoestrings and tripping down the stairs. It ended with a moral and everything. Seriously, his dad level was epic.

“Did you get to pick purple?” she asked.

“No. That’s just what color bruises are. Black, blue, purple, and sometimes green.”

“No pink?” she whispered, thoroughly offended as she lifted her finger to trace around the edge. Again.

“Don’t do it,” Caven scolded as he walked into the room wearing the universal hot-guy sleeping attire of gray sweats and a plain white tee. He set a glass of water and two Tylenol on the end table next to me and hooked his daughter around the stomach, plopping her on the middle cushion of the couch while he settled on the other side of her. “Quit touching her face. A bruise is an ouchy. You wouldn’t like it if I was poking at your ouchy, would you?”

“I was being careful.”

“Careful is not touching it.” He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and nabbed the remote. “What are we watching tonight, Willow?”

It was a miracle, but I wasn’t even breathy as I replied, “Oh, um, it doesn’t matter. Whatever.”

He shot me a teasing glare. “You do know that if you don’t pick something we have to watch the Animal Channel, right?”

“Yesssssss!” Rosalee hissed.

God, I loved her.

I loved this.

The casual comfort of three people just lounging on the couch. In recent memory, I’d never been that happy before.

I wasn’t hiding a ticking time bomb.

I wasn’t pretending.

I wasn’t lying for the sake of someone else.

I was Willow Banks sitting on Caven Hunt’s couch. With his daughter. My niece. The only remaining member of my family. It was all so perfectly boring that it wasn’t even worth noting.

And that might have been what made it the most noteworthy of all.

“Then I guess we’re watching the Animal Channel,” I said, flashing him the most genuine smile that had ever crossed my lips.

She bounced in her seat as Caven groaned. He wasn’t the least bit annoyed though. Based on his subtle smiles, he loved the monotony almost as much as I did.

We were absolutely living in the seconds that night.

I’d thought it would be strange to be at his house again. But from the moment I’d walked through the door, everything had felt right.