Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(91)

The hearth’s flames dim and Willa’s footsteps quiet upstairs. I break up the embers, lock the doors, and trek upstairs. When I check on her, she’s just how I found her months ago, after Joy died. Burrowed under blankets, pretending to be asleep. And just like last time, I hold my hand on her back, then slide my fingers through her hair. I keep my promise.

I don’t give up on Willa. Just like Willa, even scared and scarred, has never given up on me.





28





Willa





Playlist: “The Lotto,” Ingrid Michaelson, AJR





“Good morning, Sunshine.” His voice is raspy in the morning and my nipples peak in response. See? they say. That rough mouth could have been directed on us all night long. Licking, biting, sucking, whispering against us as he does that thing with his tongue—

“Shut up, boobies.”

Ryder stills on the other side of the counter. “Did you just talk to your tits?”

“Don’t mind me. Coffee.” I slide onto a stool at the breakfast bar and accept the mug he places in front of me with a weak smile.

“Thank you,” I manage after the first sip. Peering into my cup, I realize it’s exactly how I like it. “You know how I drink my coffee?”

“I value my life.” Ryder tops off his mug and smiles at me. “I’ve seen you enough mornings to figure it out. Brewed strong. Splash of milk.”

My belly does a summersault. “Ryder, about last night…” I slide my finger along the rim of the cup, staring into my coffee. Wouldn’t it be nice if the words were spelled out in those swirls of milk? Talking about this stuff is so hard. “I’m sorry.” I meet his eyes. They’re warm and kind as always. He’s so damn calm. Unshakeable.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I went thermonuclear.” A heavy sigh leaves me. “Yesterday and last night felt as fantastic as they did frightening. I’ve been trying to work through my emotions with the counselor, but my relationship and trust issues are…deep-seated. It’s about the anger and resentment I feel toward the sperm donor. It’s about having a ton of upheaval throughout my childhood, constantly relocating, making friends, then losing them. I threw everything into loving my mom because where she went, I went. She was my mom, my dad, my best friend, my everything. Then, when she was sick, I spent years worried and stressed and heartbroken that I was going to lose the one person I had let myself love with all my heart.

“I…I started to adopt this habit of never letting myself get attached so I could avoid getting hurt. That’s not a behavior that’s just going to disappear overnight.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

And like last night, another lock on my heart pops open and falls away. Like last night, he’s not mad or impatient or unimpressed that this is the best that I can do for now.

My voice is thin but I need to send the message home. I need him to understand what he’s getting himself into. “Pretending like doing this kind of thing doesn’t really, really scare me is impossible. I’m not good at it. I’ve never done it before.”

Ryder stares at me. He sets his hand on the counter, palm up. I give it to him without hesitating, then sigh as his fingers softly stroke my hand. “That’s tough stuff to say, Sunshine.”

My eyes tear up as I nod.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he squeezes my hand.

I bite my lip and squeeze back. When he lets go, I cup my coffee to warm myself. Heat comes quickly enough, though. It shoots up my spine as I watch Ryder drink from his mug, and take in his whole adorable morning appearance. He has great bedhead and a distracting line of skin peeking between his shirt and his pajama bottoms.

“So.” Ryder sips his coffee, then sets it down. “This kind of thing. It. What are we talking about?”

“Didn’t I use enough feeling words this morning?”

Ryder just stares at me and smiles.

I swear under my breath and gulp some coffee. “You and me, Lumberjack. What we are.”

He bends far enough to lean his elbows on the counter. He’s wearing a gray thermal shirt that’s worn and fitted in all the right places. It hugs the cut muscles of his shoulders and arms, running snug along his trim waist. I’m scared to see what’s below that point. I’m pretty sure it’s plaid flannel, and I’m not sure I’m prepared for that much lumbersexual hotness.

“What we are,” he repeats. “Which is…?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I want to be courageous, I want to say what Ryder means me to, what I want us to try to be, but my courage sticks somewhere between my throat and my tongue.

His phone shatters the silence as it buzzes, skittering along the quartz countertop. Ryder silences his cell without looking at it, but stupidly, my eyes travel to the screen. Emma.

Red tints my vision. Emma? Who the everloving fuck is Emma?

“No one important,” Ryder says evenly.

My eyes snap up to his. “I said that out loud?”

“You did, Willa.” Ryder smiles and gently brushes one of my curls off of my forehead. “Seriously, she’s no one to me.”

I stare at him, blinking rapidly. Very strange things are happening in my chest. It feels like someone beat it with a crowbar, cracks rapidly forming. My skin is hot, my head pounding. I think…I think I’m jealous?