Chapter Twenty-six
Daisy-Mae
West plays the last few bars of a song I’d heard once or twice on country radio, but one I didn’t know well.
He absolutely could have been a country music star.
He’s got that perfect blend of whiskey roughened singing voice and chiseled jaw line.
He’s completely breathtaking, and I can’t believe I’ve kissed those lips.
Guilt and shame bubble up in my chest, because Waylon and I have taken over his whole life.
He made sacrifices for us that no man should have to make, ones that my husband couldn’t.
The two strangers’ faces that Eddie brought into my house flash before my eyes, and all I can see is the blood staining my Persian rug.
I shot a man. I killed a man. Who was he?
Did he have a family, kids? Is someone lying awake tonight missing him?
All I see when I close my eyes is death, and my gutless husband’s face as he fled and left me and his son in a room with a killer and no way to defend myself.
“You look tired, darlin’.” West reaches out and traces the dark crescents under my eyes.
“I’m afraid to go to bed,” I confess.
“To sleep with me?” West says without hesitation.
I look at him, and shake my head. “I can’t unsee their faces. Every time I close my eyes, that’s all I can see, is a dead man on my living room floor and my rat-bastard husband running out the door while we lay helpless.”
“You’re safe now.”
“I can’t stay here forever. You’ve already done so much for me—for us. I don’t need to take over your house and steal your covers too. Besides, what would people say?”
“Daisy, there are plenty worse things than sharing my house and my bed with a beautiful woman who steals the covers. And to answer your other question—ain’t no one out here to say shit.
Even my family are at least twenty minutes away, and they know not to drop by without announcing it in the group chat. ”
My brows shoot into my hairline and I smile. “You guys have a group chat?”
“Yeah, Lemon forced us to.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I’ll add you.”
“Oh,” I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not—”
“Family?” He grins. “How many times I gotta say it before it sinks in?”
“I’ve never really had one of those. I mean, there was my grammy, but my mama ... well, you know all about that. I never knew my daddy.”
“Well, you got family now. A big one. Honestly, they’re a huge pain in my ass—especially Lemonade—but Winchesters show up for family, and that includes you.”
The lump in my throat becomes harder to swallow and tears slide down my cheeks. I bury my head in my hands and West sets his guitar down and tilts his chin toward me. “Get over here.”
I get up out of my seat and walk toward him, expecting him to stand and put his arms around me, but he pulls me onto his lap, and I curl in against his warm chest. I don’t know if it’s the post-natal hormones, the stress of this fucked up situation with my ex, and the henchmen his enemies sent after me or the fact that I hardly slept a wink last night, but I break down completely.
I cry so hard, I don’t know how to stop.
West’s big hand rubs circles on my back and his lips press against my temple.
“Hold onto me, darlin’.” His voice is raspy and gruff as he slides his arms underneath my knees. I wrap my arms around his thick shoulders and press my head tighter to his chest. West stands, as if it’s no effort at all to lift me and takes me to his room, holding me in a fireman’s carry.
As soon as he lays me down on his bed, I curl into the softness and watch him remove his boots and shirt.
He unclasps his belt buckle and slides the leather through the loops of his jeans.
I realize I can’t sleep in my thick sweater, so I sit up and remove it along with my leggings.
I might be tempting fate, but I don’t want to overheat.
I’m wearing a cami and the least sexy pair of black period panties he’s likely ever seen.
But this is reality, not a romance, and we’re not a happily married couple getting ready for bed.
We’re not even dating. I don’t know what we are.
Am I taking advantage of his kindness? Maybe. But right now, I need to be selfish. I’m not sure I’ll survive if I don’t hold onto him, just for tonight. Without him, Waylon and I would have likely ended up on the evening news, another woman and child murdered at the hands of evil men.
West climbs into bed and doesn’t say a word as he turns out the light.
A second later, he pulls me tight against him, his back to my front, as he nuzzles into my hair.
I settle in deeper, and despite my bone-deep exhaustion, I still don’t sleep.
I’m in love with my best friend, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.