“What position?” she finally asks.
“Defense. Left back. I’d have your number, Sunshine.”
Her eyes spark. Feistiness crackles off the ends of her hair. “The hell you would.”
I laugh into the mouth of my beer bottle before I take a drink. “I guarantee you.”
“You’re on.”
Lowering the bottle, I meet her eyes. “Tomorrow, then. It’ll be warm by midday. We’ll head down to the field.”
Willa gapes. “You have a field?”
“Well, we used to spend lots of time here. There are seven of us and all of us play or, in my case, played…”
She smacks my shin. “You still play. Maybe not how you once did, but you still play.”
I nod, my eyes holding hers. Silence stretches comfortably between us as Willa sips her wine. The fire pops intermittently and casts her face in a warm, blazing glow.
“I want to know about your dad.”
Willa stiffens and her jaw sets. “My dad was a local who pumped and dumped my mom during a stretch of R and R. He didn’t want anything to do with her pregnancy, and I’ve never known who he was.”
I squeeze her leg. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Whatever.”
“Whatever? You never had a daddy, Sunshine.”
“Yeah, thanks. Never figured that one out.”
I sigh. “Willa, I’m just trying to empathize.”
“Well, don’t. I don’t need pity.” She tips her wine back and takes a hefty gulp.
“I don’t pity you, and you know it.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Okay, fine.”
“You know it’s okay to hate his guts for being the biggest idiot to miss out on your life, right?”
“Jesus.” She throws my legs off hers and stands up. “I really don’t need the shrink session.”
“Willa, wait.” I stand from the couch slowly. “I’m trying to talk to you about this. About the fact that the first man in your life was a complete disappointment and you’re inclined to see most men that way. You’ve said that to me. I’m not putting words in your mouth.”
Willa stares at me. “That’s because most men I’ve met are complete disappointments. They’re all pretty words and promises until real life hits. Then they’re gone.”
She spins away, dragging a blanket from the sofa with her as she heads for the stairs. “I’m tired and I’m aware I’m being defensive. I want to talk more but I can’t, okay? Not right now. I’ll say something I’ll regret.”
I stare at her, deciphering her face. She looks vulnerable and sad. She looks like she feels guilty, but she doesn’t need to. She’s telling me her limit. She’s not running away. She’s postponing.
“Okay. I’m sorry I pushed, Sunshine.”
She looks at me with thinly veiled surprise. “You’re not mad?”
“No, Willa. Not at all.”
Her shoulders drop in relief. “Okay, well…I’m just going to bed, then.” Wading toward me with the blanket swallowing her up, Willa presses a kiss to my sternum and whispers, “Good night.”
I watch her ascend the steps. She stops at the landing and pauses to look at me curiously, before taking the stairs the rest of the way up.
Staring into the fire, I let my thoughts settle. I think about how much I want to curl around her in sleep tonight, but how much more important it is that I show Willa that I can respect her process.
Baby steps, I told her. This is what I want her to see. That I won’t bolt when she bristles, that I won’t punish her when she tells me her boundaries. That I won’t resent her when she says this is all I can do, especially when every word I read between the lines says, but I want to do more.
The hearth’s flames dim and Willa’s footsteps quiet upstairs. I break up the embers, lock the doors, and trek upstairs. When I check on her, she’s just how I found her months ago, after Joy died. Burrowed under blankets, pretending to be asleep. And just like last time, I hold my hand on her back, then slide my fingers through her hair. I keep my promise.
I don’t give up on Willa. Just like Willa, even scared and scarred, has never given up on me.
28
Willa
Playlist: “The Lotto,” Ingrid Michaelson, AJR
“Good morning, Sunshine.” His voice is raspy in the morning and my nipples peak in response. See? they say. That rough mouth could have been directed on us all night long. Licking, biting, sucking, whispering against us as he does that thing with his tongue—
“Shut up, boobies.”
Ryder stills on the other side of the counter. “Did you just talk to your tits?”
“Don’t mind me. Coffee.” I slide onto a stool at the breakfast bar and accept the mug he places in front of me with a weak smile.
“Thank you,” I manage after the first sip. Peering into my cup, I realize it’s exactly how I like it. “You know how I drink my coffee?”
“I value my life.” Ryder tops off his mug and smiles at me. “I’ve seen you enough mornings to figure it out. Brewed strong. Splash of milk.”
My belly does a summersault. “Ryder, about last night…” I slide my finger along the rim of the cup, staring into my coffee. Wouldn’t it be nice if the words were spelled out in those swirls of milk? Talking about this stuff is so hard. “I’m sorry.” I meet his eyes. They’re warm and kind as always. He’s so damn calm. Unshakeable.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I went thermonuclear.” A heavy sigh leaves me. “Yesterday and last night felt as fantastic as they did frightening. I’ve been trying to work through my emotions with the counselor, but my relationship and trust issues are…deep-seated. It’s about the anger and resentment I feel toward the sperm donor. It’s about having a ton of upheaval throughout my childhood, constantly relocating, making friends, then losing them. I threw everything into loving my mom because where she went, I went. She was my mom, my dad, my best friend, my everything. Then, when she was sick, I spent years worried and stressed and heartbroken that I was going to lose the one person I had let myself love with all my heart.
“I…I started to adopt this habit of never letting myself get attached so I could avoid getting hurt. That’s not a behavior that’s just going to disappear overnight.”
“I know,” he says quietly.
And like last night, another lock on my heart pops open and falls away. Like last night, he’s not mad or impatient or unimpressed that this is the best that I can do for now.
My voice is thin but I need to send the message home. I need him to understand what he’s getting himself into. “Pretending like doing this kind of thing doesn’t really, really scare me is impossible. I’m not good at it. I’ve never done it before.”
Ryder stares at me. He sets his hand on the counter, palm up. I give it to him without hesitating, then sigh as his fingers softly stroke my hand. “That’s tough stuff to say, Sunshine.”
My eyes tear up as I nod.