Chapter 34
Willow
“You’re practising a lot lately.”
River comes over in his usual training gear, water bottle in hand, brows creased in that worried way I don't particularly like seeing. I know what that look means—and I don't want it. I don't want people worrying about me. I’m not fragile. I’m just coping in my own way.
Dancing helps. It keeps my mind busy.
And well… Elijah’s tongue between my legs this morning in the shower also helped. Very distracting.
He was adamant about having my taste on his lips when he went to work, and he succeeded.
“You really need to stop worrying; I’m fine.”
I shift slightly in my split, pulling my leg slowly to the front, not even bothering to look at him when I add. “Which you would know if you were around more.”
River goes quiet for a second.
“Is that a dig?”
“Call it what you want,” I reply lightly, hoping he just leaves me alone.
Maybe I’m not entirely fine, but I’m getting there.
Today is just a difficult day, hence why I’m trying to keep my mind busy.
“Is it that time of the month?”
I turn to look at him, hoping I misheard him.
Nope, he's completely serious.
I stare at him, debating whether to laugh or throttle him, because why is it that whenever a woman is even slightly quiet, irritated, or just not smiling like a walking advertisement for happiness, men immediately jump to that conclusion?
Ridiculous.
Honestly, exhausting.
Most guys are absolute idiots.
Well, not all of them—but a concerning number of them.
Unless they're older, tattooed, unfairly good-looking, and make my knees weak every time they look at me.
I’m biased. Sue me.
“I've got a tip for you.” I stand with a huff. “Whenever you get a girlfriend, don't say that shit to her.”
I bend forward again, stretching the ache in my legs till I touch my toes.
“It was a serious question, but alright.”
He clears his throat, and I know he's not done. One thing he's never been able to do is shut up, even when he knows he should.
“I know what day it is, and I've noticed you haven't opened the boxes in your room yet.”
“And I’m not going to.”
Especially not today.
It's already hard enough not being able to celebrate my dad's birthday with him, so there's no way I can read whatever letters he left me, see the cards he had written for my birthday, my wedding and any future children I might have.
They were the things he wanted to see me do, but it was all taken away from him.
I swipe a hand across my forehead when I straighten up.
River looks so much like Elijah. The same dark hair, the same strong jaw, and they both have the same dimple when they smile on their right cheek. The only difference is their eyes. Unfortunately, we got ours from she who must not be named.
I’m sick of the sympathetic looks.
“I’m just saying, they've been there for months now, and it's obviously bothering you.”
Of course, it's bothering me; you'd have to be dead inside if it didn't, but I’m not voicing that out loud because this is the last conversation I want to be having.
I reach out, take his bottle without asking and take a sip.
“I love you, River. But please shut up before this goes over your head.” I shake the bottle before handing it back to him. Hopefully, he gets my point to shut up about it.
He narrows his eyes at me, but I ignore him, spinning on my heel so he can’t start analysing my emotional state again.
I have a shift at Beantastics with Quinn, who no doubt will make the day a little easier.
Apparently, she's started dating someone, or it's a friends-with-benefits situation. I can't remember.
“My dad cares about you, so maybe opening up to him will be easier than opening up to me.”
He's right.
Elijah does help more than anyone.
My heart actually hurts when I think about him.
He's like sunlight slipping through the bare winter branches and the warmth that touches your skin after you've been cold for so long you almost forgot what warmth felt like.
He doesn't chase the winter away, but reminds you it won't last forever.
Sometimes I don't even think he realises he's doing it. And when he's not with me, somehow the coldness becomes harrowing.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, swallowing the ache rising in my throat, and step into River to hug him. There's no hesitation as he tightens his arms around me, and I finally let out a tired breath.
“I know you mean well,” I mumble into his chest. “You've both been lifesavers since I lost him. I just need to get through today in my own way.”
“I get it. You've always been stubborn.”
I press my foot down on his toes in retaliation, and he quickly prods my side, making me huff out a breath that's almost a laugh.
His face softens a second later. “I just don't want you hurting on your own anymore. You looked after your dad for so long, with nobody really looking after you. But now you do.”
I know I do.
River did visit me. He called whenever he could. Showed up when he was allowed.
But there's only so much a sixteen-year-old could do. I never blamed him for it. I understood completely.
If anything, I’m more grateful that he tried because nobody else did.
I ruffle his hair out of habit, which he bats away, nose twitching in mock offence.
“I’ll remember that. But I actually need to get to work before Quinn has my head on a stick.”
He slings his gym bag over his shoulder as we walk towards the stairs. “She's probably locked the doors until you show up.”
He's not wrong.
It wouldn't be the first time Quinn closed the shop because she wasn't in the mood for people and decided her new book was more important than serving caffeine-deprived customers. Apparently, fictional men and women with swords outrank real ones with hangovers.
Sometimes I genuinely don't understand how that place is still open.
And yet, somehow, it does.
Mostly because I turn up.
“This isn't what I ordered.”
The man at the counter is staring down at his drink like it's personally offended him. It's a hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream, chocolate dusting, and a flake stabbed into the top like a tiny sugary flag. By the look on his face, you'd think Quinn had handed him a live grenade.
Kind of looks like she wants to do that now.
“You ordered a hot chocolate.” She twirls a red strand of hair around her finger, not even blinking. I’d bet my last pound that the book we had to steal back from her crazy ex is open behind the counter.
“I didn't ask for whipped cream,” he snaps.
I drag my cloth across the table slower than necessary because this is better than Netflix and what’s going on in my own mind right now.
Quinn leans forward slightly. “Take the cream off then.”
And just like that, she drops her gaze back below the counter.
I knew it. She's either reading that stupid book or she's scrolling through hookup apps. Honestly, she's lucky I like her. Otherwise, I’d torch her entire bookshelf.
The man shoves the mug forward. It sloshes over the rim, hot chocolate bleeding across the counter.
Brilliant. Because obviously, I didn't clean enough today.
He's the last customer in the shop. Thank God, because we're closing in ten minutes.
“I want a new one,” he demands. “No cream this time. Think you can manage that?”
Now, if it were me, I’d just remake the damn drink while silently wishing he’d step on Lego for the rest of his life.
But this is Quinn.
She straightens slowly with a manic look on her face. Way too slowly. The kind that means I should probably go and intervene, but I don't. I kind of want to see where this goes.
Without breaking eye contact, she rounds the counter. Reaches out. Dips two fingers into the mug and scoops the whipped cream clean off the top, and then proceeds to wipe it down the front of his very expensive-looking suit.
Wow.
“There,” she says calmly. “No cream.”
Oh, Quinn. I wish we could go a day when something like this doesn't happen. But people are idiots and still come, so more fool them.
“Do you have any idea how expensive this suit is?” His voice climbs an octave.
Quinn tilts her head. “No. Are you going to tell me?”
He opens his mouth.
She lifts her hand, snapping her fingers shut in front of him. “Oh—wait. I don't care.”
“You little bitch.”
His face turns a violent shade of red like he might actually combust. Well, that's my cue.
I’m slipping between them and pushing Quinn further back.
“I’m really sorry about her.” I forced something that resembled an apologetic smile. “She's, um… She's on her period.”
The moment it leaves my mouth, I want to slam my own head into the counter. I literally told River off for saying that to me today, and here I am saying it to this idiot.
I’m a hypocrite, but it works.
The man recoils, lets out a disgusted tut, then pushes the mug off the surface. It hits the floor and smashes, shards skidding everywhere and the chocolate splashes on my shoes.
He storms out, spitting insults over his shoulder before slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass.
Silence settles over the shop.
I just stare at the wreckage before turning to Quinn, scowling.
“Really? My period?” she remarks before I can even start.
I scoff and head to the cleaning cupboard, really wishing I could strangle her. “Well, I couldn't exactly tell him you were born feral with no filter. It was the first thing that came to mind. And for the record, you deserved every single name he called you.”
She laughs like it's funny, when sometimes it usually is, but not today.
“You love me.”
I pause mid-reach, mop in hand and level her with a look. “That is extremely debatable right now.”
She grins anyway.
I ignore her and start cleaning up the mess.
Of course, it's me just fucking cleaning this up as Quinn perches back behind the counter, completely unbothered, as she talks about her date tonight.
I half-listen and half-fantasise about screaming into the nearest pillow.
Or downing a bottle of vodka. Maybe both.
Birthdays used to be fun.