She only woke when she heard voices.
“I can’t thank you enough, Chaya,” Luke murmured.
“Do you want me to stay over, just in case?”
“Thanks, but I think we’re okay. You drive home safely, yeah?”
Willow opened her eyes to see Ben with his arm draped casually over Chaya’s shoulder. Friendly. Not like lovers. And she wondered about the words Chaya had mentioned in the sanctity of the hospital cubicle. Ben’s eyes held way more intensity than an older brother looking at a younger sibling.
“She’s staying at mine, if you need her,” Ben said, holding out his hand. Chaya placed the keys to her car into it as if they’d done the same thing a thousand times.
Luke looked over at her. “Hey, sleepy head,” he muttered softly. “Come here.”
He slid his hands beneath her and lifted her out of the car with ease. If he found her heavy, he definitely didn’t show it. No hint of grimace, just a steely resolve to get her inside quickly.
Too tired to argue, she leaned her head against his chest and let the steady beat of his heart reassure for a moment that she wasn’t alone in this. That there was someone who cared, even as the small voice in the back of her brain warned her that he’d probably have been relieved if she lost the baby. That he hadn’t been there when she needed him. And that his jacket smelled of cigarettes.
“You smoked?”
He let them through the door to the building and to the elevator. “I get a call, through Ben, that you’ve rushed to the hospital in pain while I was three hours away. Of course I smoked, not knowing whether you or Cletus were going to be okay.”
Once in the elevator, she caught sight of them in the mirror. It reminded her of that moment in that old Whitney Houston movie, The Bodyguard, when Kevin Costner swept her off the stage and away from danger.
And just like Costner, Luke had come for her.
“You care.”
“I shouldn’t. But I do.” When he’d let them into the apartment and laid her on her bed, he began to gently remove her shoes. “I don’t know how to deal with this,” he said.
His actions at odds with his words.
“Deal with what?”
“I don’t want to care. Because caring means responsibilities. But when I got that call, flower, all I know is that I felt like a puddle of water evaporating on a hot day. I couldn’t hold on to myself. Couldn’t think how to catch the train, couldn’t figure out how to get from the pub to the train station. All I could think about was you. Alone. Here by yourself. And that somehow Cletus might no longer be a real, tangible being. Just a ghost, a suggestion of a spirit that was once here. And it hurt like a pickaxe to the ribs to think of a world without him or her existing in it.”
“Luke,” she said softly, holding her hand toward him.
He took it and kissed her knuckles before he switched his attention to her hoodie, lifting it over her head.
“I didn’t touch any drugs, but I’ll admit it was hard. Don’t forgive me for being so far away. Don’t forgive me for not being able to fully quit smoking yet. Don’t forgive me for buying beer at the train station and drinking it all on the train home because I was scared of what I’d find once I got here. That’s fucking weakness, Will. Not strength. You don’t forgive that shit. Worse, you and Cletus deserve a better man than that.”
“I think that’s vulnerability, Luke. Not weakness. Are there better ways of handling it than alcohol? Definitely. But you cared enough to come home despite your obligations. And I’m grateful.”
Luke carefully pulled her jeans down her legs, then tugged the sheets back on the bed for her to shimmy inside. “You shouldn’t be grateful when someone does the bare minimum for you.”
“Tonight rattled us both. Take some of your clothes off and climb in bed with me, Luke. I need . . .”
“What do you need?” he asked roughly.
“I need to know I’m not alone right now.”
Tenderly, he brushed his hand along her forehead, through her hair. “You should get some sleep.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m too churned up by everything. I need something solid to hold on to, Luke.”
He sighed and stood up, the hallway light illuminating his silhouette. “I’m not getting into bed with you while I smell of booze and cigs. Let me go shower. I’ll come back, Will. Even when I do something stupid. Even when it seems like the best course of action is to push you away. I told you. Magnetic force field.”
Fifteen minutes later, as her eyes struggled to stay open and she edged toward sleep, the bed shifted, and she felt Luke’s arms settle around her, his palm settling on her stomach, rubbing in gentle circles.
He smelled fresh like soap, his skin soft and warm against her back.
When she woke in the morning, he was gone, but the space behind her was still warm.
He’d stayed with her all night, just like she’d needed.
And she wondered what it would feel like to spend every night in his arms.
9
Five days later, Luke crept out of Willow’s bedroom, like he had done in the early hours of the morning every day since she’d got back from the hospital.
Well, it was preceded by him climbing into her bed in the moments before she fell asleep. He’d feel her press her back up against his chest, stroke his arms, hold his hand.
Last night, she’d looped a hand around his neck.
She was definitely awake enough to consent.
And he was too much of a coward to admit the way he held her, the way he stroked her soft skin was anything other than giving her comfort when she needed it.
Or that he’d had the best fucking sleep in ten years. That he woke up in the morning filled with energy, ready to take on the day and rehearsals and interviews as the advanced publicity machine for the album release kicked in.
He palmed his cock in the shower. Waking with her in his space, her arse against his dick, the scent of her surrounding him, and his hand cupping her breast was the perfect recipe for a hard-on. As he squeezed and stroked his full length, he imagined what it would feel like to slip his hand inside her pyjamas and stroke her until she came. He came with a stifled grunt.
Once dressed, he passed her room where she was still fast asleep. Certain that baking a baby took energy, he didn’t want to wake her, but he did pause to look at her. A slow thud in his chest settled as he took in her hair spread over the pillow, the way her fist curled near her cheek.
It would be the mother of all lies to say he didn’t want her. Want something . . . more from her. Maybe he was too fucking chicken to admit.
He’d left his drums at the rehearsal space at Cerys’s studio, so he popped into Costa to grab a coffee and breakfast bap to eat on the tram. He owed Alex fifty quid, so he stopped at the bank to grab some cash. Yawning, he entered his pin number into the machine and followed the instructions. He grabbed the cash and receipt and stepped away. Glancing down at the receipt, he caught sight of the balance. £724,875.71.
Bizarrely, panic hit him first, then his stomach tightened. Willow had transferred the money, and now he knew exactly what a million dollars was in good old British pounds. It felt seedy. Like money earned for services rendered. Taking money to make sure the right thing was done for his kid felt all kinds of fucked up. He had so much debt, but the idea of using the money to pay it off was grimmer than eating a black pudding.