Chapter 20
EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH
“Honey, I thought for sure I’d be back from the city in time.
” I can hear Mom’s wince through the phone.
“The doctor is late. I’m still in the waiting room.
” She huffs, clearly trying not to be irritated.
“Heaven forbid I’m five minutes late, but it’s all well and dandy to make me sit here for over an hour past my appointment, and I haven’t even seen the man! ”
“Mom, it’s fine.”
She heaves a heavy sigh. “I’m just so sorry.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I say breezily, even as I rub my fingers into my brow. I’m going through the names of people I can call, forcing bright into my tone. “Seriously, just do your appointment so you don’t have to make another trip into the city.”
“Sorry again, honey.”
“Mom, stop. I love you.”
“Oh, they’re calling me in.”
“Bye, Mom.”
We disconnect and I finally loose the curse I’ve been holding back. I’m just going to have to ask Colton’s mom to take Owen with them to the game.
“What’s wrong?” I jump in my chair, my eyes lifting to find Holt leaning into the wall at the mouth of the hall.
“It’s nothing.”
“Faye.” When he says my name like that, I find it difficult to deny him what he wants.
“Owen has a soccer game in Creekwood Valley.”
The town is about a thirty-minute drive from Rubble Ridge.
Where half of Rubble Ridge may as well have been built into the mountains that spring up from the land, Creekwood Valley is nestled into a bowl of the Rockies.
But it’s a beautiful town with great people.
I have a close friend there that I met through a build we did on their property for his parents to be closer to their kids.
Hayden, Adeline and Colt’s son, is Owen’s age. I’m pretty sure Owen will be playing Hayden tonight.
“And that’s bad why?” Holt pushes off the wall to move closer. Like it always does, my heart begins a leaping dance in my chest.
At least there’s nothing sweet he can plunder from my lips this time.
The thought shocks pink into my cheeks. I clear my throat.
“Mabel has her first dance class tonight. I can’t miss it, but games are important to Owen.
” I sigh as I drop back into my chair. “My mom was supposed to take Owen, but her appointment in the city ran long. She won’t be back in time.
I can’t ask Dad because he has a tour. Andy lives in the city and Shy has kids of her own and… ”
Holt cuts me off. “I’ll take him.”
I blink at him. I don’t know why I’m shocked—but I am. Deeply.
“You’ll take him?”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something in his face that has my eyes narrowing as they roam his expression to decode whatever it is. I fail and huff a resigned sigh.
“Are you sure?” I wince at the question, because I don’t want him to not be sure. I need help and he’s offering. Still…it’s Holt.
“Yeah.”
I smile a relieved smile. His eyes drop to drink it in. Like always, I ignore the flames that burn under my skin.
“Thank you, Holt. It’s going to mean the world to Owen.” Pain pinches my heart. I add, “It means the world to me.”
Holt’s jaw is hard as he gives me a single, firm nod. “What time am I picking him up?”
“From school…?” I hedge hopefully.
Holt chuckles as he shakes his head. “He’s got everything he needs?”
“I’ve got it all in my car.”
“I’ll drop him off at home after the game.”
“I have chili in the crock pot.” My face flares even hotter.
Seriously, I don’t know why I respond like this to the man.
It’s ridiculous. He’s seen me naked—and recently.
Not that I was lucid, but still. I’m pretty sure it happened, unless I got myself out of my bra and undies and between the sheets of my bed all by my sick self.
It wouldn’t be that far-fetched considering the way I tend to strip down when I’m ill.
Still. I can’t make myself ask about it, though, and he hasn’t mentioned it.
I blabber, “I mean, if you want to stay for dinner. You don’t have to, of course.”
He cracks a smile. My heart quickens.
The man is so damn handsome.
I hate it.
I hate that I feel guilty for feeling the things I feel.
I hate that I feel anything at all.
“Dinner would be nice, Faye.”
“Great. Okay. Yeah, dinner.” I’m an idiot. I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Composure is a work in progress, obviously. “The kids will be happy to have you.”
Holt bobs his head for a few beats, but his dark eyes never leave my face. “And you?”
“Me what?” Did I just squeak? Lord, tell me I didn’t…
“Will you be happy to have me, Faye?”
Is he trying to ruin me? Is this a game to him?
I don’t think so…
I give him the only honest reply I can. “I will, Holt.”
“We kicked ass!” Owen is pumped up by the win and spending time with his—Holt.
I haven’t seen this light in him since…
“Ass is a bad word,” Mabel points out.
“Mabel,” I warn on a sigh of pure exhaustion. The day has been a long one and the week has been even longer. Thankfully, it’s almost done.
She points her finger at her brother. “Owen said it first.”
“I’m older than you,” Owen dunks his bun into his chili.
“Owen.” I shake my head at my son. I can feel Holt watching me. Watching the dynamics of my family. I change the subject. “Did you play against Hayden?”
“Yep. He was pi—” he cuts off before he says what we all know he was about to say. “He lost.”
Holt bites out a laugh. “Good save, kid.”
Owen’s grin glows under the male praise. I duck my head, so no one sees me flinch at the pinch of pain that claws inside my heart. Under the pain, there’s a deep-seeded pleasure I can’t deny. My son is glowing. But Tate isn’t here to see it, and that adds to the ever-present pain.
“Was Adeline there?” Owen nods. “Colt, too?” Owen nods again. “And Harlow?”
“Yeah, Mom. Everyone was there.”
“I need to text Adeline.”
Holt leans into the table, giving Mabel his attention. “And how was dance for you, Mabel?”
“I didn’t get to wear a tutu.” She says it like it’s a crime against little girls everywhere.
By the expression Holt wears, it’s clear he’s not sure how to respond. “Well, what did you get to wear?”
“A boring body suit.” She pouts. Her eyes land on me. “Mom said I could wear a tutu.”
“When you compete,” I clarify.
Holt considers. “Weren’t you wearing a tutu when you met me? If I remember correctly, it was purple.”
With all the perfunctory fact she can muster, Mabel folds her little hands on the table as she tells him, “I have one in every color.”
Holt’s eyes flick up to mine. There’s a smirk in there somewhere, I’m sure of it. “I bet you do.”
“I can show you after dinner.” Mabel points a little finger to Holt’s bowl. “Eat.”
Holt’s eyes drop to her full bowl before looking into his nearly empty one. He presses his lips together as though to contain his chuckle. Tucking in, I do the same.
We eat dinner the way we used to eat dinner when we were a full, complete, not broken family for the first time in over a year.
Because my husband’s brother and ex-lover is sitting in his seat.
We finish eating with my heart cracking open in my chest to leak its gooey center into the rest of me.
Grief and happiness and beauty that cuts me raw.
I lost my husband, but there’s no denying that this is one of those nights that make life worth living.
My baby’s glow with happiness and a man I once loved—maybe still love—God, I don’t know…
Holt looks happy, too.
“You cooked; I’ll wash,” Holt says from behind me.
He’s so close, I can feel the warmth of his body even though he’s not touching me.
I can see our reflection in the window above the sink—see how much larger he is than me.
He’s a tower next to me. And somehow, for some reason, feeling the bulk of him behind me like this feels incredibly intimate.
As intimate as it might feel to lean back into the hard expanse of his chest.
If I fell, would he catch me with his hands on my hips?
Would his fingertips seek the skin under my shirt?
My breaths begin to race.
“I didn’t cook.” Gosh, I sound breathless. “The crockpot did all the work.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
Why does the sound of his rough voice spill through me like gravel? Harsh and gritty with just a touch of pain and oh, so good.
It shouldn’t be this good.
“Uncle Holt,” Mabel’s hand slides into his—into the hands I just imagined on my hips, sliding under my shirt. “You said you’d come see my tutus.”
“Sure did, princess.”
She tugs him from the kitchen, and it takes all the effort I have inside of me not to slump into a puddle of liquid woman against the sink.