I pause as my throat tightens. Willa stares at me, her eyes widening. She looks scared, like a cornered wild animal.
“I know you’re in shock. I know this is some twisted small world, but, Willa, it’s still me. No, we haven’t been as open about some things, but we’ve been there when we needed each other—”
She stiffens. Her eyes tighten with panic. “I didn’t need you.”
Those words hit me like a physical blow. “Everybody needs someone, Willa.”
“Not me.” She leans in, locking eyes with me. “I. Don’t. Need. Anyone. Except for Mama.” She sniffs and wipes her nose roughly. “Who I’m going to go make sure is okay. Mama’s never lied to me. Can you say that much for yourself?”
I’m empty of words. No, I can’t say I haven’t lied by omission. No, I can’t deny that I’ve withheld parts of my life. But Willa has, too. She’s just scrounging for every bit of material she can and throwing it against me. Anything to keep her distance.
Willa draws her shoulders back, her jaw set as she interprets my silence exactly how she needs to. “That’s what I thought.”
She throws open my door and walks out, but this time, I don’t chase her. This time, I slump to the floor and let those words settle in.
I didn’t need you.
I don’t need anyone.
“But, Sunshine,” I mutter to the empty room, “what if I need you?”
“Ryder, do you want milk?”
Mom’s voice snaps me out of my daydreaming. Her hand hovers over my coffee with a small pitcher.
“Oh, no, thanks, Mom.”
She smiles and looks like she’s tearing up. “I can’t get over hearing your voice.” Dabbing her eyes, she sets the pitcher down and turns back to the fresh-baked bread she’s slicing. “It’s deeper than I remembered.”
“That’s because his balls finally dropped.” Ax nudges me as he falls onto a neighboring stool.
“Axel!” Mom gives him a severe stare, but still slides a cup of coffee his way.
“Sorry, mom. So, your friend.” Ax drops his voice and sips his coffee, his eyes that are just like mine crinkling over his mug. “She’s hot.”
I clench my jaw. “She’s not yours for the taking. She’s also like…ten years younger than you.”
Ax scoffs. “Six, if she’s your age, and women like older men. They like maturity. An established career.”
“Which explains why you’re single, Axelrod.” Ren drops on the other side of me and reaches to the cutting board, nabbing a slice of raisin bread faster than Mom can swat away his hand.
“Fuck you, Søren,” Ax grumbles into his coffee.
Ren’s cheeks darken with an angry flush as he shoves the entire piece of bread into his mouth. He looks about to flip his shit. Ren hates his full name.
“Boys.” Mom raises her eyebrows. Something in the intensity of her frown oddly reminds me of Willa. My coffee curdles in my stomach. “I use that term, boys, deliberately. Do you see your younger brothers acting like this? Why am I lecturing the older ones?”
“Because they’re still sleeping,” Ren mumbles around his mouthful. “Give Viggo and Ollie time to wake up and then ask them about what they did to the backyard.”
Mom’s eyes widen in alarm before they close and she takes a centering breath. Those two put the first signs of aging on her forehead and near her eyes. “I’ll deal with that later. The point is that it’s Julafton. Christmas Eve. I’d like you to pretend for one day you don’t have disgusting mouths, and that you somewhat like each other, förstått?”
It’s the Swedish version of Am I understood? with the emphatic expectation to be damn well understood.
“Yes, Mom,” we all mumble.
“Now. I want to discuss Willa and Joy.” Mama resumes slicing the last of the bread and begins neatly setting it in the basket in front of her. “I think we should invite them to Christmas dinner tonight.”
I choke on my coffee. Ax takes the opportunity to smack my back harder than necessary.
“Get off.” I shove him so roughly he nearly topples off his stool.
“Ryder?” Mom watches me, her head tipped.
“It’s your home, Mom. Your decision. I wouldn’t expect them to say yes, though. Willa’s pissed at me.”
Mom sips her coffee and drags a stool toward her side of the counter. She sits with a sigh. “Why?”
“She says that I was dishonest, that I kept a lot of myself from her, but she did, too. We were both playing the same game—”
Ren laughs. “The one where you pretended you hated each other but all you really wanted to do was—”
I slap a hand over his mouth and raise my eyebrows, gesturing toward Mom. Mom smiles and sips her coffee. When I’m confident Ren isn’t going to continue that train of thought, I drop my hand.
“We’ve been playing with fire for a while. I don’t think Willa likes feeling as if she got burned and I didn’t.”
Mom nods and sets down her cup. “But you did, too, didn’t you? Maybe you’ve even been burned the worst?”
Her eyes hold mine in understanding. It’s hard to think about and impossible to say, how stealthily my feelings for Willa shifted. “She doesn’t know that.”
“She will if you tell her,” Mom says softly.
I fiddle with my napkin. “I’m not sure she wants to hear it.”
My brothers’ eyes bore into the sides of my head, as they realize what we’re saying. Mom reaches for my hand and clasps it. “Be brave, älskling, and give her a chance. If you don’t, I think you’ll regret it for a long time.”
Nodding, I manage a smile. Mom’s idea is nice in theory. But she doesn’t know Willa. She doesn’t know all that I’m up against. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it.”
My phone buzzes. While her eyesight has indeed deteriorated, Joy has discovered the art of dictating texts. Swiping open my phone, I read:
It’s Darcy’s visit to Longbourn today.
Get your ass down here and read
me my happily ever after.
A laugh I can’t stop rumbles out of my chest.
At your service, milady.
Wrong century, squire.
“Tough crowd,” I mumble.
“What?” Mom asks.
Standing, I pocket my phone in my PJ pants. “Sorry, nothing.” Rounding the counter, I give Mom a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Don’t be too long!” Mom calls. “I need help with the julskinka.”
“I won’t, promise.”
Jogging up to my room, I change into jeans and a flannel, of course. Willa’s jokes about them echo in my head as I button my shirt. She can tease all she wants, but wearing a flannel shirt is like wearing a socially acceptable security blanket. Sue me, I like to be comfortable and comforted.
Once downstairs, I round the banister and stroll down the hall to Joy’s room. Knocking twice, I wait for her voice.