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After dropping that mind-bending truth bomb, Willow pulls up the shop’s nutritional page to calculate the carbs in the sub she wants.
Once we’re at the counter, Willow orders her sandwich before I tell the cashier my order. I reach into my pocket, suddenly remembering that I have no way of paying. When I woke up this morning, I was still ticked about last night’s loss and that obnoxious fan. Without thinking, I laced up my shoes and blindly ran for miles, trying to burn off steam. I don’t even have my phone, which was why I went into the coffee shop. I’d planned on asking to use the shop’s landline to call my personal assistant to order me a rideshare.
“I—” My neck flares with embarrassment. “I don’t have my wallet.”
“Girl, he’s hot, but…” The cashier shakes her head at Willow.
A part of me wants to growl that I’ve got several million in the bank, that I live in the highest penthouse in the city, but I grit my teeth.
Willow laughs, the bubbly sound sailing over the din, before handing the judgy cashier a battered credit card.
“Don’t worry. He’s good for it,” she says while patting my bicep.
The cashier’s unconvinced uh-huh makes me scowl, but Willow just accepts our order number tent and drags me to a nearby table.
Once seated, she picks at her multicolored nail polish. “I wanted to say thanks for earlier. I know I tend to babble, and you didn’t seem annoyed—or rather, more annoyed than usual—and I appreciate that. This diagnosis has been a huge adjustment and”—she bites her lip—“I think I’m doing an okay job of handling it.”
“You’re doing incredible.”
Willow looks as surprised by my compliment as I am.
“I, um…thanks. But I just wanted you to know I appreciated you listening.”
Over the past months, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what I did to make Brielle cheat on me. The truth is, I can think of plenty of ways I fell short, but one thing I didn’t fail at was listening. I’m a good listener. When you’re not much of a talker, you get plenty of practice.
“Anytime.” My answer sounds like a washing machine loaded with bricks.
The corner of her mouth tips up again, drawing my attention to her full lips. When I realize I’m staring, I force my gaze away, where it, unfortunately, crashes with a toddler’s. His wide blue eyes instantly burst into tears before he flings himself at his mother.
A low groan leaves my throat as I press a fist into my eye, trying to push down unease spiking through my veins.
As much as I can’t exactly pinpoint why Brielle left me, there’s one thing we often argued about—my inability to have children.
There’s no medical reason why I can’t have kids, but the wailing toddler is proof that I’m no good with children. I’ve never been. If given the chance, I’d probably follow in my dad’s footsteps and become a crappy father. I’m already ‘emotionally detached’ as it is.
Meat hooks feel like they’re dragging my shoulders forward as heaviness drops in my stomach. My oldest brother, Cody, sent me Brielle’s birth announcement late last night. It seems that baby Talullah was born five days ago on April 1st. That birthdate has got to be some sort of cosmic retribution, right? Like the kid will be forever cursed?
Not that I’d want that for little Talullah.
It’s not her fault that her parents are cheating jerks.
I don’t realize I’ve clenched my hand on the table until Willow’s fingers slide over it. There’s a question in her brown eyes, but she’s interrupted by a staff member dropping off our sandwiches.
“Oh.” Her cheeks pink slightly. “I need to give myself insulin, but I’m not brave enough to do it in public yet. I’ll be right back.”
Willow slipping off to the bathroom to give herself vital medication is just the smack in the face I need. She’s dealing with real issues while I’m having a pathetic pity party.
After Willow returns, she keeps up a chipper one-sided conversation as she inhales her sandwich. She’s warm and welcoming and…distractingly charismatic. The way I feel lighter listening to her ramble is dangerous. I can’t let another person in only to have them walk away.
On the drive to my condo, I’m polite as I learn about a random assortment of her favorite things, her job at the vet clinic, and her new best friend, grateful to discover that Willow has a solid support system. When she tells me about her mom and how it was just the two of them growing up, I have the strangest urge to share about my messed-up childhood. The fact that I’d be happy to spend the rest of the day talking to Willow makes reactionary caution tighten my teeth.
I don’t fully exhale until the private elevator to my penthouse swallows me whole. My forehead rests on the cool metal paneling as I tell myself to reset.
I need to shower, change, and report to Waves Stadium.
How I feel inexplicably drawn to someone I just met doesn’t matter. Whatever this is with Willow ends today.
My phone pings from its discarded position on my bed as I enter my bedroom. Though I’d normally ignore it, Willow said she’d send me her payment information. I glance at the first of three texts.
