Without a Hitch(69)

“Why is it so important to you?” I grumble, feeling multiple sets of eyes on me.

“Because your comfort should be important to—to someone,” she huffs. Without another word, she tosses them into the cart and a few other pairs in various colors. “Do you have Tshirts?” I tug on the collar of my dress shirt so she can see underneath. “Not undershirts. Tshirts.”

“No,” I mutter, knowing she’s about to grab a few more necessities.

“I’ve met Nova. She’s so laid back. How did you end up so…formal?”

“That’s a great fucking question. My dad is parading around in M.C. Hammer pants, so who the hell knows,” I say, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation.

“Have you always been this way?” There’s no malice in her tone. She’s genuinely curious, and the uncomfortable truth is, I don’t remember. Have I always been this way? Tilly turns down another aisle and almost gives me a heart attack with her squeals of joy, but at least it stops the introspection.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s Sloane’s book. Her new one. Right here on a Target shelf. Here.” She thrusts her phone at me. “Take some pictures.”

I watch as she arranges some books on the shelf, then grabs one and poses with it. It takes me a second to drag my gaze from her shining face to the book in her hand. The Love We Made by Sloane Camden. My brow furrows.

“Who’s Sloane?”

Tilly beams with pride, and in that moment, I know I’d give my left nut to have her shine like that for me. “My baby sister. You have no idea how hard she’s worked to get her books onto bookshelves.

It’s nearly impossible for a self-published author. Take my picture,” she repeats, and I comply.

She’s radiant even in the harsh overhead lighting.

“We have to buy this.”

“Of course.” I grin like a fool as she tosses three copies into the carriage. “You’re proud of Sloane.”

She pauses in the aisle to peer up at me. “I am. We didn’t have much growing up, and it wasn’t easy. Our father was an alcoholic. And all our mothers left us.”

“All? How many of you are there?”

Her shoulders relax as she talks about her family. “Well, you met Eli. She’s the second oldest. Her mom took off when she was almost a year old. Emory, she’s the oldest. Her mom passed away when she was three. Then there’s Sloane and me. Sloane’s mom had cancer. It was fast, but we were old enough to remember her leaving one day and never coming back. We were too young to realize she was sick, though I think Emory suspected it.”

She moves through the store again, and I follow. “What about your mom? Where is she?”

I see her body tense even from ten feet behind her. “We lost my mother to mental illness.”

The air drags through my lungs like razor blades, and I snatch Tilly’s arm to ground myself.

“Jesus, Tilly. I—I’m sorry.”

She gives one quick nod but doesn’t make eye contact. “We’re all dealt cards in this life, lover.”

She gives me a small smile, and I get the feeling it’s for my benefit. Through her pain, she’s trying to protect me, and I don’t know how to react to that. I lose my chance when she speaks again.

“We play the best hand we can. Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose. I lost in the parent department, but I know it’s not my fault or theirs. Life can be hard and cruel. It can also be beautiful and magical if you let it. My sisters are my rocks. My friends are my sounding boards. You can’t miss something you never had, so I try to be thankful to my parents for giving me life. Thank them for doing the best they could, and never take anything or anyone for granted. We only get one life, Lochlan.

That’s why we have to make it a good one.”

I lace my fingers through hers, but I can’t speak through the lump in my throat. Together we steer the carriage toward the self-pay kiosk. I want to say something, anything, to lighten the mood. When she squeezes my hand, I know she’s taking comfort as much as she’s giving it. That’s all she needs from me right now, and emotions I can’t name zip through my body like a live current.

Tilly just unloaded her pain. I need to sit with it for a minute and internalize what that means for her.

Magical.

She really does love that word. And now maybe I understand why. It gives her hope. I trip over my own feet when I realize that Tilly Camden is the magic. Moment by moment, she’s giving me hope.

In life, in her, and in love.

Magical. Bloody fucket magical.





C HAPTE R 26

LOCHLAN

“G et out here, Lochlan.”

“Not a chance in your magical bloody world,” I call through the bedroom door.

There’s a pop a half-second before the door bursts open. Leaping from the edge of the bed, I stare at her in frustration. “Did you just pick that lock?”

“You wanted to get to know me, lover? This is me. All of me. I have a lot of talents.” She does some kind of wiggle with her fingers that makes me want to suck them. “Lock picking,” she continues while still waving her hands, “I owe to Sloane. She could be a little shit when she was a kid. We have three weeks together—you’re not going to lock me out on the first day.”