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Those kinds of words don’t come easy to me.

It’s probably too soon anyway.

I don’t want to scare her away. She already had both a mother and a man controlling her—what she needs from me is freedom. A man who’ll let her find her own way for once.

So that’s what I’m going to try to give her.

Twenty-Eight

Willow

The best part of the last week was making waffles with Frankie and then dousing them in copious amounts of whipped cream and chocolate spread.

Then eating them, I suppose.

Because Frankie had gotten a whipped cream and chocolate mustache and Hudson had wiped it, oh so gently, off her upper lip.

Of course, that was after he’d done something that made me topple a little bit more in love with him—he’d given himself his own mustache. And Frankie’s resultant peals of laughter had sent me toppling head over heels for her too.

And then join in on the fun—with the laughter and the mustache.

Eventually, though, Briar returned from her business trip and reclaimed her daughter.

And Hudson continued his slow and measured return to work—mostly in the office, coordinating his men, but also some light protection detail in the field with his favorite long-time clients.

And me?

I’m still in his house.

Still waiting around for Atlas and Madeline to do their work.

Still relying on other people to make it safe for me to live my fucking life.

I grind my teeth together and try to shove down my frustration. I manage it, but it’s getting harder with each day that passes—hell with each hour and minute that pass. Because something needs to change. Because I need to figure out how to fill my days with anything that isn’t sitting around reading or learning to cook or exercising to continue getting my strength back.

All of those are good.

Productive.

But they’re not fulfilling me in any meaningful way.

I’m desperate to dig my teeth into a script, to fall into the study of a new character, to learn and train and become someone else—a single mom trying her best to provide for her kids, a superhero flying through space, the president, a morally gray heroine who isn’t afraid to kill for those under her protection.

Hell, I’d even take a sequel direct-to-streaming movie reuniting me with my childhood castmates.

And that would, quite literally, be hell.

But it would be better than this puttering around, day after day, searching for something meaningful, for a way to be useful, for?—

“Ugh!” I snap, dropping the mixing bowl into the sink and flicking on the water, rinsing out the remainder of the banana bread batter.

There are four loaves already.

That’s more than Hudson and I can eat, and though he’s been taking the leftovers of my baking endeavors to work, I’m sure the guys are going to get sick of the treats eventually.

Or maybe I’m just feeling grumpy.

Okay, maybe it’s both.