The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(13)

Chapter 3


Walker’s man of honor to-do list:

—Survive the weekend.

Walker Scott had never been a huge people person, so the fact that he was doing nothing but peopling for the next few days didn’t exactly thrill him. The only thing that made it tolerable was that, for the most part, it was his people. Luckily, he didn’t have many. In fact, he could count them on one hand and they were all here in the cabin. Caitlin, Heather . . . Maze—though he hadn’t been face-to-face with her for three years.

And yet here they were, standing in Caitlin’s kitchen, staring at each other. Problem was, looking at Maze had always been like looking into the sun. Heart-stopping and . . . lethal.

And she’d brought a boyfriend . . .

Good times ahead.

The sound of a cork popping had him turning in time to see Caitlin taking a swig right from one of the bottles of wine. She swiped her forearm over her mouth and offered him the bottle.

He took it, but instead of drinking from it, he set it down out of her reach. “What’s going on, Cat?”

She sighed and seemed to relax slightly at his use of her nickname. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” he said. “You’re never anything but calm and in charge.”

“Calm? I’m not calm. Name one time I’ve been calm.”

That was an easy one for him. “The day your parents started fostering me. Even though at seventeen you were only one year older than me, you still took me by the hand and told me that I was yours now and that it was all going to be okay.” He shook his head at the memory. “I was shaking in my boots.”

She snorted. “You’ve never shaken in your boots, not a single day of your life.”

She was wrong. He’d been given up at age two. CPS had rehomed and rehomed him like he was a dog at the shelter. Not a puppy, because everyone wanted a puppy, but a complete-with-disciplinary-problems adolescent dog.

No one ever wanted to keep those.

By the time he’d landed at the Walsh house, he’d been scared plenty, his biggest fear being that people would always be able to walk away from him. “Shaking in my boots,” he repeated. “But not you. You commandeered my stuff and unpacked me even though I never unpack, anywhere. Before I knew what was happening, you took me apart—just like my backpack—and civilized me.”

Maze snorted. She’d hitched herself up and was sitting on the counter, taking a swig out of the forgotten wine bottle. Her hair was longer than it’d ever been, falling past her shoulders in wild fiery-red waves that were as uncontained as the woman herself. She was in faded Levi’s that fit like a second skin and some seriously hot boots, both showing off her mile-long legs. Her soft scoop-necked tee said: SHE BELIEVED SHE COULD, BUT SHE WAS REALLY TIRED SO SHE DIDN’T.

Everything about her sitting there with a dare me expression on her face teased at his memories of her. He might’ve been moved by that, but she’d been one of those who’d been able to walk away from him.

“‘Civilized’?” she echoed, brows raised.

“Okay, so ‘civilized’ is probably a stretch,” he admitted. “Human then. She made me human. Michael too. He used to make me hold his hand, told me he was nervous about whatever it was we were doing. Didn’t realize until years later that I was the shaky one and he had my back. At nine.” His voice thickened. “He had a way of reaching right inside someone and squeezing their heart for every emotion in it.”

Cat drew a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

Thinking about Michael was hard enough. Speaking about him was almost impossible, and Walker too had to take a deep breath. “Actually, you all made me human.”

“Same,” Maze whispered. “You’ve done so much for us, Cat, always. But something’s wrong, I can feel it. I want to help.”

“You’ve had a funny way of showing it.”

Maze looked stricken for a beat, then nodded, owning it. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve got a lot to make up for, so please let me.”

Cat sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I mean, am I overreacting to everything and wanting to kill people? Yes. Do I maybe need professional help? Also yes. But I’m a stressed-out bride, so whatever.” She pointed at Walker. “You. You never seem to show when you’re angry or frustrated and never overreact about anything. What’s your secret?”

His secret wasn’t any secret at all. For most of his younger years, showing anything had brought him nothing but trouble. “Anger and frustration are unproductive emotions,” he said. “Let them go.”

“Seriously? That’s it? That doesn’t help me at all.”

“Because you’ve never let go of anything,” he said.

Cat tossed up her hands in frustration. “Duh.”

He let out a low laugh. “Try this. When you feel yourself ramping up, count to five. Chances are, you’ll have lost the murderous urge by then.”

“One, two, three, four, five,” she said quickly, and then shook her head. “Nope, I still want to shake you both.”

Walker shrugged. “Better than wanting to kill us.”

Maze looked surprised. And insulted. “Us? What have we done?”

“I’m not sure,” Caitlin said, “but something was going on when I walked in here. It seemed like you were about to fight.”