Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(90)

Willa stares horrified at the landing. It makes a belly laugh tumble out of me. “I mean I was number four. It’s kind of an automatic process by that point.”

“Spoken like the half of our species that will never have to shove the next generation out of their vagina,” Willa says flatly.

It makes me laugh harder. “I’ve traumatized you.”

“Jesus. Okay.” She shakes her head. “So. My turn.” Her fingers tap her lips. “I want to know exactly what happened with your hearing.”

It’s like a bucket of ice water over my head, but I’m asking her to be brave. I have to be, too. “Bacterial meningitis. I was halfway through summer training for my freshman season at UCLA. I spiked a horrible fever, developed a headache that was so painful I couldn’t open my eyes. My parents took me to the hospital. I dropped out of consciousness at some point, and when I came to, my hearing was like this.”

Willa blinks away tears. “God. I’m sorry, Ryder.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” she says urgently, sitting up straighter. “You lost something you loved.”

“I know. But I grieved. Sometimes I still feel sad, but I moved on. There’s nothing to be done now. Just life to live in this new direction.”

She hesitates for a beat, her hands seeking my legs. She rubs up and down my shin bones like she’s always done it. Like we’re used to tangling our legs together in front of a blistering fire, shacked up in the glorious middle of nowhere.

“What position?” she finally asks.

“Defense. Left back. I’d have your number, Sunshine.”

Her eyes spark. Feistiness crackles off the ends of her hair. “The hell you would.”

I laugh into the mouth of my beer bottle before I take a drink. “I guarantee you.”

“You’re on.”

Lowering the bottle, I meet her eyes. “Tomorrow, then. It’ll be warm by midday. We’ll head down to the field.”

Willa gapes. “You have a field?”

“Well, we used to spend lots of time here. There are seven of us and all of us play or, in my case, played…”

She smacks my shin. “You still play. Maybe not how you once did, but you still play.”

I nod, my eyes holding hers. Silence stretches comfortably between us as Willa sips her wine. The fire pops intermittently and casts her face in a warm, blazing glow.

“I want to know about your dad.”

Willa stiffens and her jaw sets. “My dad was a local who pumped and dumped my mom during a stretch of R and R. He didn’t want anything to do with her pregnancy, and I’ve never known who he was.”

I squeeze her leg. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Whatever? You never had a daddy, Sunshine.”

“Yeah, thanks. Never figured that one out.”

I sigh. “Willa, I’m just trying to empathize.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t need pity.” She tips her wine back and takes a hefty gulp.

“I don’t pity you, and you know it.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Okay, fine.”

“You know it’s okay to hate his guts for being the biggest idiot to miss out on your life, right?”

“Jesus.” She throws my legs off hers and stands up. “I really don’t need the shrink session.”

“Willa, wait.” I stand from the couch slowly. “I’m trying to talk to you about this. About the fact that the first man in your life was a complete disappointment and you’re inclined to see most men that way. You’ve said that to me. I’m not putting words in your mouth.”

Willa stares at me. “That’s because most men I’ve met are complete disappointments. They’re all pretty words and promises until real life hits. Then they’re gone.”

She spins away, dragging a blanket from the sofa with her as she heads for the stairs. “I’m tired and I’m aware I’m being defensive. I want to talk more but I can’t, okay? Not right now. I’ll say something I’ll regret.”

I stare at her, deciphering her face. She looks vulnerable and sad. She looks like she feels guilty, but she doesn’t need to. She’s telling me her limit. She’s not running away. She’s postponing.

“Okay. I’m sorry I pushed, Sunshine.”

She looks at me with thinly veiled surprise. “You’re not mad?”

“No, Willa. Not at all.”

Her shoulders drop in relief. “Okay, well…I’m just going to bed, then.” Wading toward me with the blanket swallowing her up, Willa presses a kiss to my sternum and whispers, “Good night.”

I watch her ascend the steps. She stops at the landing and pauses to look at me curiously, before taking the stairs the rest of the way up.

Staring into the fire, I let my thoughts settle. I think about how much I want to curl around her in sleep tonight, but how much more important it is that I show Willa that I can respect her process.

Baby steps, I told her. This is what I want her to see. That I won’t bolt when she bristles, that I won’t punish her when she tells me her boundaries. That I won’t resent her when she says this is all I can do, especially when every word I read between the lines says, but I want to do more.