Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(72)

“She says that I was dishonest, that I kept a lot of myself from her, but she did, too. We were both playing the same game—”

Ren laughs. “The one where you pretended you hated each other but all you really wanted to do was—”

I slap a hand over his mouth and raise my eyebrows, gesturing toward Mom. Mom smiles and sips her coffee. When I’m confident Ren isn’t going to continue that train of thought, I drop my hand.

“We’ve been playing with fire for a while. I don’t think Willa likes feeling as if she got burned and I didn’t.”

Mom nods and sets down her cup. “But you did, too, didn’t you? Maybe you’ve even been burned the worst?”

Her eyes hold mine in understanding. It’s hard to think about and impossible to say, how stealthily my feelings for Willa shifted. “She doesn’t know that.”

“She will if you tell her,” Mom says softly.

I fiddle with my napkin. “I’m not sure she wants to hear it.”

My brothers’ eyes bore into the sides of my head, as they realize what we’re saying. Mom reaches for my hand and clasps it. “Be brave, ?lskling, and give her a chance. If you don’t, I think you’ll regret it for a long time.”

Nodding, I manage a smile. Mom’s idea is nice in theory. But she doesn’t know Willa. She doesn’t know all that I’m up against. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it.”

My phone buzzes. While her eyesight has indeed deteriorated, Joy has discovered the art of dictating texts. Swiping open my phone, I read:

It’s Darcy’s visit to Longbourn today.

Get your ass down here and read

me my happily ever after.





A laugh I can’t stop rumbles out of my chest.

At your service, milady.





Wrong century, squire.





“Tough crowd,” I mumble.

“What?” Mom asks.

Standing, I pocket my phone in my PJ pants. “Sorry, nothing.” Rounding the counter, I give Mom a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Don’t be too long!” Mom calls. “I need help with the julskinka.”

“I won’t, promise.”

Jogging up to my room, I change into jeans and a flannel, of course. Willa’s jokes about them echo in my head as I button my shirt. She can tease all she wants, but wearing a flannel shirt is like wearing a socially acceptable security blanket. Sue me, I like to be comfortable and comforted.

Once downstairs, I round the banister and stroll down the hall to Joy’s room. Knocking twice, I wait for her voice.

“Enter,” she says dramatically.

I smile as I walk in because I can’t help it. I like Joy. She’s a smartass, like Willa, with all the fun and a fraction of the bite. Unlike Willa, she’s incredibly blunt, but I am too, so it works out fine. She’s also whip-smart. Each time I read to her, Joy explains cultural contexts I never knew about in Pride and Prejudice and tells random funny anecdotes when something in the story jogs her memory. Not that Willa wouldn’t love her for the fact alone that Joy’s her mother, but I can see why Willa loves her so much. Joy Sutter is a good time.

“You’re giving me that look again.” She shifts in bed and sighs heavily.

“Am not.” Sitting down, I sweep up Pride and Prejudice. I frown when I open the book. “This is where we left off two days ago.”

“Willa was too tired to read last night. She just curled up on my bed and passed out.”

Tired my ass. Willa was a wreck is what she was. Guilt hits me like a kick to the stomach.

“It’s not your fault, Lumberjack. Willa’s an emotional minefield, which, to her credit, is with good reason.” Joy sighs again and raises the bed. “Willa never had a dad. She grew up being carted all over the country for my military career. The only constants in her life have been the soccer ball at her feet, and her mom whistling for her from the stands.”

Joy draws in a shuddering breath and betrays a rare window of emotion. “And she’s about to lose one of those.”

Reflexively, I wrap my hand around hers. Silence hangs between us as I search her eyes. “Does she know that?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Ms. Sutter, you have to tell her.”

Joy’s hand grips mine hard as she blinks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how. I don’t know how to break my daughter’s heart. One promise I have always made Willa is that I will never leave her, that in this world she could count on her mama being there for her.”

I stroke my thumb gently along her skin. “Due respect, you made a promise you could never keep. Parents always leave their children, unless horrifically their children leave them first. Willa knows this. She’s going to grieve and struggle, but not because you failed her. You’re not doing wrong by her, being sick, by…”

Tears paint her cheeks as she stares up at the ceiling. “By dying,” Joy whispers.

I swallow around a lump in my throat.

Silence lapses again as the sun hides behind a cloud, bathing us in shadows. Joy squeezes my hand and tugs me closer. “Promise me something?” Her eyes lock with mine. “Don’t give up on her, okay?”